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kaiist · 1 month ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The walls of your shared apartment seemed to close in, the air thick with unspoken resentments that had been building for weeks. What had begun as a minor disagreement about household chores had somehow torn open wounds neither of you knew were still bleeding. Xavier stood across from you, his brows furrowed, the only visible sign of his distress.

“You weren’t listening to what I’m actually saying!” you shouted, frustration bubbling over like a pot left too long on the stove. “It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Maybe we should just get divorced since you clearly don’t care enough to even hear me!”

The words hung in the air like smoke, poisonous and suffocating. Xavier went completely still, the color draining from his face as if you’d physically struck him. His carefully maintained composure shattered completely. For a terrible moment, he looked like a lost child, confusion and raw hurt etched across features that rarely betrayed emotion, as if trying to process whether he’d heard you correctly.

“What?” His voice came out as barely a whisper, the single syllable laden with disbelief. The tremor in his hands was visible now as he took a halting step toward you. “You want to leave me?”

The question hung between you, fragile and devastating. His eyes—usually so guarded—were wide with a naked vulnerability that made your chest ache. You’d never seen him like this, stripped of his careful control, looking at you as though his entire world was crumbling beneath his feet.

“No,” he finally said, the word coming out stronger than you expected, though his voice still wavered. “No, I don’t accept that.”

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours intently. “Is that truly what you want? To end everything we have…?” Xavier was stumbling over his words, fear making his movements uncertain.

The raw pain in his expression doused your anger like ice water. You felt a crushing wave of regret as you realized what you’d done.

You felt your anger dissolve, replaced by immediate regret. “I... I don’t know what came over me,” you admitted, your voice softening as you reached for his hand. “I’m just... I’m drowning here, Xavier. I feel so alone sometimes, even when you’re right beside me.”

Relief washed over his face in stages, as if he didn’t quite trust it yet. The tension in his shoulders unwound gradually, his breathing becoming less ragged. He closed the remaining distance between you, his hands tentatively framing your face as if you might disappear at his touch.

“You scared me,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought—” His throat worked as he swallowed hard, then shook his head as if dismissing the painful thought. “I know arguments are normal, but please don’t say things like that unless you truly mean them.”

In a surprising move, Xavier pulled you gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. He rested his chin atop your head, his heartbeat gradually slowing from its accelerated pace. You could feel the subtle tremor in his body, still racing from the terror your words had inflicted.

“I know I’m not...” he struggled, pressing his face into your hair. “I know I don’t show it like others might. I know I’m... difficult to read sometimes.”

His arms tightened, as if afraid you might slip away. “But please understand,” he whispered against your temple, “never, never think that means I don’t care.”

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the sound of your mingled breathing slowly synchronizing. His hand moved in gentle circles against your back, a gesture so tender it brought tears to your eyes.

After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own still haunted by the echo of fear your words had planted. “Let’s talk about what’s really bothering you,” he said softly. “The real issue—not threats we don’t mean.” His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. “I need you to know that I’m listening. Really listening.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The kitchen lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Zayne’s tired face as another late night unfolded into another argument. The takeout containers sat cold and forgotten on the counter, another dinner you’d planned to share, ruined by the hospital’s relentless demands.

“This is the third time this week, Zayne!” Your voice echoed off the pristine tiles, resentment burning in your chest. “I’m tired of coming second to your patients. I’m tired of planning my entire life around a husband who’s never actually here!”

Zayne’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. “What do you want me to say? That patient would have died if I’d left mid-surgery. You know that.”

“What I know is that our marriage is dying while you’re saving everyone else!” The words spilled out like blood from a wound. “If your work is so much more important than what we have, maybe we shouldn’t be married at all!”

Zayne went completely rigid, as if someone had just flatlined on his operating table. His eyes widened with an unmistakable flash of terror that transformed his features into something you barely recognized.

“What did you just say?” His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper, so unlike his usual tone that it startled you both. The mug he’d been holding slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor with a crash that neither of you acknowledged.

His hand instinctively reached for the counter edge, gripping it with such force his knuckles turned bloodless white. “Do you—” He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to regain his composed detachment but failing completely. “Do you understand what you’re suggesting?”

His other hand pushed through his hair, a gesture so uncharacteristically vulnerable it startled you. Zayne—always controlled, always collected—looked like he was coming apart at the seams.

“This isn’t—” he began, his voice unsteady. “This isn’t something to throw around in an argument.” His gaze locked onto yours, desperate and searching. “Do you genuinely want to end our marriage? Is that... is that what I’ve driven you to?”

The raw fear in his eyes struck you like a physical blow. Regret washed over you immediately, dousing the flames of your anger.

“No,” you whispered, moving toward him as if drawn by gravity. “No, Zayne, no. I don’t want that at all.” You stepped carefully over the broken ceramic, reaching for him. “I just... I miss you so much it physically hurts. Sometimes I feel like I’m competing with ghosts for your attention, and I’m always losing.”

The tension in his body didn’t immediately dissolve, but something in his expression shifted—a cautious relief mingled with lingering dread.

“You can’t—” he started, then cleared his throat, struggling to steady his voice. “You can’t say things like that. Not when you don’t mean them.” His eyes held a wounded vulnerability that made your heart ache. “Not even in anger.”

He reached for your hands, holding them between his own—hands that were always steady, now trembling slightly as they enveloped yours. His touch was gentle but desperate, like someone clutching a lifeline.

“I’ve lost patients before,” he murmured, his voice low. “Despite doing everything right, despite fighting with everything I had. It’s an inevitable part of what I do.” His eyes met yours, stripped of their usual protective distance. “But losing you... there’s no protocol for that. No training that could prepare me for a world without you in it.”

He pulled you closer, one hand moving to the small of your back while the other cradled your face. “We need to talk about this—really talk,” he said, his voice regaining some of its steadiness. “About my hours at the hospital and how they’re affecting you. About better ways to communicate when you’re feeling abandoned.” His thumb brushed gently over your cheekbone. “But threatening what we have... that can’t be your way of getting my attention. I can’t accept that.”

His forehead came to rest against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “I chose you,” he whispered. “Not just once at the altar, but every day since. The hospital gets my skills and my time, but you...” His voice caught. “You have everything else. My heart. My future. Everything that matters.”

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

“You promised, Rafayel. You promised you’d be there tonight.” Your voice trembled with hurt and frustration. “And you just... didn’t show up.”

Rafayel’s expression cycled through confusion, realization, and then dismay as he glanced at the clock. Paint smeared across his forearms, flecks of blue and gold caught in his disheveled hair. “The dinner... was tonight?” His voice was small, stunned. “I thought—I was sure it was tomorrow. I just—”

“Of course you did,” you cut him off, tears burning your eyes. “Of course you probably got distracted by a pretty sky while I sat there making excuses for you!” The shame and embarrassment of the evening washed over you afresh. “You never take anything seriously! Not my feelings, not my situation—nothing!”

You knocked over an empty paint cup, sending it clattering across the floor. “Maybe we should just get divorced if I’m so easy to forget!”

The words seemed to physically strike Rafayel. The ever-present light in his eyes extinguished instantly, as if someone had snuffed out a flame. His expression crumpled in stages—shock, horror, then a devastating anguish that transformed his features into something almost unrecognizable.

“No,” he whispered. Then louder, more desperate, “No, no, no—you can’t mean that. Please tell me you don’t mean that.”

He moved toward you with frantic urgency, nearly knocking over his easel in his haste. His hands reached for yours, fingers trembling visibly. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please don’t say that. Don’t even think about it.”

Tears welled in his eyes, catching the light like a fractured crystal. His hands clutched yours with desperate intensity.

“I’ll do better,” he promised frantically, words tumbling over each other. “I’ll be better. I’ll set alarms. I’ll never miss another dinner. I’ll—” His voice broke. “I’ll do anything. Just please don’t leave me.” His breath hitched on a suppressed sob. “Please don’t leave me alone in a world without you in it.”

The raw panic in his eyes made your heart ache. You squeezed his hands, shaking your head quickly. “Rafayel, I didn’t mean it,” you said softly, reaching up to brush away a tear tracking down his cheek. “I would never leave you—I love you too much. I was just hurt and embarrassed, but I spoke without thinking. I’m so sorry I scared you.”

The relief that washed over his face was almost painful to witness—like watching someone being pulled back from the edge of a cliff. His shoulders sagged as if a crushing weight had been lifted, and a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped him. Without warning, he pulled you into an embrace so tight it nearly stole your breath, his body trembling against yours.

“You scared me,” he whispered against your hair, his voice unsteady. “The world without you in it... it wouldn’t even be a world anymore.” His arms tightened around you, as if he could somehow merge you into himself, keep you from ever leaving. “The ocean would lose its blue. The sunset would mean nothing. Everything would be wrong.”

For a moment, you glimpsed the true depth of his feelings. Rafayel clung to you as if you were his only tether to sanity.

“You’re the only one,” he murmured brokenly, his fingers tangling in your hair. “The only one who’s ever truly seen me. The only one I’ve ever truly loved.” His voice caught on the words. “Others... they’re just shadows. Background noise. But you—” His breathing hitched. “You’re the melody I can’t stop hearing.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “I know I’m not... I know I’m difficult,” he admitted, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “I get distracted. I get lost in my head. I disappear when something catches my attention. But none of that means I don’t care.” He rested his forehead against yours.

Rafayel pressed a trembling kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally a feather-light touch to your lips. “I’m sorry about tonight,” he whispered. “I saw the sunset reflecting on the water, and it reminded me of the way your eyes catch the light when you laugh, and I just... got lost in trying to capture it. A moment that reminded me of you.” He shook his head slightly. “But that’s no excuse. I should have been with you.”

His arms wrapped around you once more, holding you as if you were something infinitely precious and terrifyingly fragile. “Tell me how to make it right,” he pleaded softly. “Tell me what you need from me, and I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just... just promise you won’t say those words again. Not even in anger. I couldn’t bear it.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

“You’re being reckless again,” he said, his voice cool in a way that only stoked your anger further. “You’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.”

Weeks of feeling second-guessed and undermined by the very person who should have been your greatest ally finally erupted. “Not everything needs your perfect, polished approval, Sylus! Sometimes instinct trumps your precious spreadsheets!”

His eyes narrowed slightly—the only outward sign that your words had struck a nerve. “Instinct without strategy leads to disaster. You know that.”

The argument echoed through the room. What had started as a disagreement about your latest ambitious ideas had escalated beyond reason when he questioned your methods.

“What I know is that you don’t trust me anymore,” you said, voice rising with each word. “If you think so little of my ideas and my capabilities, then maybe we should just get divorced and you can find someone who meets your impossible standards!”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Sylus went completely, unnaturally still. Surprise and disbelief appeared on his features. He regarded you with an unfathomable stare, his jaw tightening visibly as a muscle worked in his cheek. You’d never seen him look so... shaken. The silence stretched between you, heavy with implications neither of you was prepared to face.

“Is that what you want?” he finally asked, his voice unnervingly quiet. There was steel underneath his words, but also something else—a carefully concealed pain that threaded through the syllables. His eyes never left yours, studying every micro-expression with devastating intensity.

He moved toward you in a few steps. “Very well,” he said softly, the words carrying a finality that sent ice through your veins. “If that is truly your desire, I won’t stand in your way.”

His hand reached out, hovering near your face but not quite touching, as if memorizing your features from a distance. The gesture held such unexpected tenderness that it made your throat tighten. “Though I would ask you to consider carefully if that is what you genuinely want,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Some decisions can’t be undone.”

The subtle vulnerability in his controlled demeanor broke through your anger. You could see it now—the carefully masked fear behind his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders that betrayed how deeply your words had cut him.

You reached for his hovering hand, pulling it to your cheek. “No—please, don’t agree to that,” you said, your voice softening with immediate regret. “I spoke without thinking. I was hurt and angry and I lashed out in the worst possible way.” Your fingers tightened around his. “I value what we’ve built—what we have—more than anything in the world. I would never want to throw it away, especially not over a disagreement.”

Relief flickered across Sylus’s face, though so carefully guarded that you might have missed it had you not known every minute shift of his expression.

“I suspected as much,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. His hand, which had been hovering near you, finally made full contact, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Still, you should be more careful with your threats. I might have taken you at your word.”

He pulled you against him then, arms wrapping firmly around your waist. The embrace held a desperate quality that belied his controlled exterior, as if he was trying to reassure himself that you were still there, still his.

“You are...” he began, then paused, choosing his words with characteristic precision. “You are irreplaceable to me.” Coming from Sylus—a man who measured every word as carefully as he measured risk—the simple statement carried more weight than flowery declarations might from others. “What we have built together is not something I would surrender without a fight.” His arms tightened infinitesimally. “But I would never force you to remain if you truly wished to leave.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“We disagree. We argue. That is the nature of two ambitious minds existing in the same orbit.” His thumb traced your lower lip, the gesture surprisingly intimate. “But don’t threaten what we have unless you genuinely wish to end it.” Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. “I respect you too much to assume your words are empty.”

For a moment, you glimpsed behind the mask of the strategic leader who planned several steps ahead in every situation—seeing instead a man momentarily confronted with a possibility he hadn’t fully prepared for: your departure from his life.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The argument had been building for weeks, pressure accumulating like a storm system. What started as a seemingly minor issue—Caleb canceling dinner plans again due to a last-minute work emergency—had erupted into something far more devastating. The living room felt too small for the tension between you.

“That’s the fifth time this month,” you said, voice tight with hurt as you paced the living room. “I understand your work is important, but am I even a consideration anymore?”

Caleb ran a hand over his face, exhaustion evident in every line of his body. “It’s not like I had a choice. When—”

“You always have a choice!” The words burst from you, weeks of loneliness and frustration finding their target. “You choose your career over me, and I’m tired of making excuses for why my husband is never home, never present, never here when I need him!”

“That’s not fair,” he countered, his own frustration rising to meet yours. “You knew what my life was when you married me. The Fleet doesn’t care about our dinner reservations.”

“And clearly, neither do you!” You grabbed your keys from the counter, the metal biting into your palm. “Maybe we should just get divorced if your career is always going to come first! At least then I wouldn’t be waiting for someone who’s never coming home!”

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Caleb, who had been pacing, stopped dead in his tracks. His entire body went rigid, eyes widening with a look of such raw horror that it made your heart stutter.

“No,” he said after a long, terrible pause, his voice dangerously quiet. “No, you don’t mean that.”

He closed the distance between you in two swift strides, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in his movement, a barely contained desperation, that made your breath hitch.

“You don’t mean that,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument despite the slight tremor underneath the words. “You’re upset, and you have every right to be. But that—” he shook his head sharply, “—that’s not an option. Not now, not ever.”

His hands found your shoulders, grip firm but gentle. The look in his eyes was a volatile mixture of hurt, fear, and something possessively fierce that sent a shiver down your spine. “We’re not doing that,” he said, each word emphasizing. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That doesn’t change because we’re fighting.”

The intensity of his reaction cut through your anger like a blade, leaving only regret in its wake. You felt the fight drain out of you as you leaned into his touch, reaching up to cover his hands with yours.

“You’re right,” you whispered, tears finally spilling over. “I don’t mean it at all. I would never—” Your voice broke. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. I was trying to hurt you because I felt hurt, but that was cruel and unfair. I would never want to lose you. I just feel so alone sometimes, like I’m competing with the entire Fleet for scraps of your attention.”

The iron grip of tension in Caleb’s shoulders eased slightly, though the intensity in his eyes remained. He exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath he’d been holding since your outburst. One hand moved from your shoulder to cup your face, his touch gentler than his words had been.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said, his voice quiet but carrying a dangerous undercurrent. “Not even in anger. Not even as a weapon. Not ever.” The hand against your cheek trembled slightly. “I couldn’t bear it.”

He pulled you against his chest, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while his other hand cradled the back of your head. You could feel his heart hammering against your cheek, his breathing uneven.

“The thought of losing you...” he murmured against your hair. “It’s not something I can bear. Not something I would ever accept.” His arms tightened around you, as if he could physically prevent you from leaving by holding you close enough. “You’re the only thing that keeps me human out there. The only reason I fight so hard to come back.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “I know I’ve been distant,” he acknowledged, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. “The Fleet demands so much, but it’s no excuse. Nothing—” his grip tightened slightly, “—nothing is more important to me than you. Not my career, not my duty, not anything.”

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised, pressing his forehead to yours. “Whatever it takes. More time together. Better communication.” His lips brushed yours.

“Just don’t ever threaten to leave me again. I need you to promise me that.” His voice softened, revealing a vulnerability you rarely glimpsed. “Because I don’t think I’d survive it.”

Phew, finally. This turned out to be one of my longest scenarios yet. I’m honestly pretty proud of it, and yeah, I got emotional—tears were shed, lol. I really hope it’s enough to repay all the love and enthusiasm you’ve shown. I’m so grateful you’re here to read it. Thank you!

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shawtuzi · 11 months ago

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thinking about suguru and satoru eating your pussy at the same time heje

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine them both between your thighs, staring hungrily at your dripping pussy before gojo breaks the ice and thumbs at your already sensitive clit

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto soothing your little trembles by gently stroking your thigh, maybe even giving it a few kisses of encouragement <//3

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both of the men using one strong hand to push your plush thighs open, exposing yourself even more to them. if you dared try to shut your thighs even a tad they’d be pushed right back open, along with a quick slap the soft skin curtesy of geto

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine the two friends bickering for a moment before geto finally caves and lets gojo have the first taste

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine gojo wasting no time spitting on your clit before wrapping his lips around it, tongue immediately caressing your sensitive nub. he couldn’t decide between roughly sucking on the poor thing or moving his tongue side to side sooo he settles on both! he hollowed his cheeks, holding your clit in place while his tongue continued moving with vigor

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto sucking on the soft skin of your thighs while his hand finds purchase on your bare breast, squeezing roughly every once in a while to keep you on your toes

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine geto slowly kissing his way towards your center before nudging gojo’s head with his own, giving the man a cheeky smile

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 imagine both men looking up at you before—

“a-ah!!! oh my-” your back suddenly arched off the bed as you felt not one, but two hot tongues on your clit. one slowly moving up and down, like they were trying to savor the taste of your essence—not too hard or too fast….just sensual. the other tongue on the other hand settled on quick, harsh licks sooo basically the exact opposite.

“s’good right ?” gojo slurred into your pussy, now sloppily kissing his way down to your dripping hole. geto took this as an opportunity to cup your entire clit in his mouth, while his tongue drew soft circles around the nub. geto hummed around your clit, spit dribbling from his lips from the sloppy kisses he was giving your weeping pussy.

all it took was gojo shoving his tongue in your pussy for your back to arch slightly off the bed as you came with a loud, pathetic whine. gojo moaned just as loud when he felt your cum began to coat his tongue in little waves.

geto pulled away from your clit with an obnoxious pop! dark eyes admiring at the mess your pussy has already become. “lemme get a taste,” he mumbled, leaning his head down to lick a slow strip up your pussy. but one lick was not enough! and it wasn’t long before gojo got a little jealous and smacked geto on the back of his head, a small grunt leaving him.

“‘fuck was that for?” geto hissed, but gojo didn’t even bother glancing at him, his attention focused solely on your soaked center. his long fingers ran slowly up and down your petal soft slit, occasionally applying light pressure to your clit. without warning he plunged two fingers in with a lewd squelching sound following, “we’re supposed to be sharing don’t be so greedy, now let’s make her cum again.”

“j-just be gentle m’still a little— hah! sensitiveeee,” your request fell on deaf ears as both mens tongues were on your clit once again. they went from synchronized licks, to each giving your clit an open mouth kiss, to taking turns slapping your pussy.

you tried to keep your eyes on them but you could only handle so much before you head fell back against your bed, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “m’gonna put my fingers in sweet thing,” geto mumbled into your thigh, giving it a sweet kiss before plunging two fingers inside you. getos fingers began doing a scissoring motion, and to help you avoid the stinging stretch gojo sucked your throbbing clit in his mouth.

“i’m gonna cu-cum againnn, you’re gonna make me—” your body tensed as another orgasm washed over you, a much pleasing sight for the two men before you. “fuck she’s squeezing me real fucking tight, ease up yeah? gonna make it real hard for gojo to put his in too,” geto growled, curling his fingers in the most delicious way possible.

you whined something along the lines of ‘i’m tryinggg’ and gojo could’ve just ate you up the way you were being so cute. “hehe she’s so cute the way she’s trying to keep it together, just let go baby we’re right here to catch you,” gojo giggled menacingly, his two fingers slowly prodding at your entrance.

“don’t forget to go slow, don’t wanna hurt the poor thing now,” geto patted your thigh before giving it a sharp swat.

it took a little time to get you used to the stretch of four fingers inside your tight little pussy, but you managed like the good girl you were for them. “oh my fuckin’…” your mouth dropped as both men began to move their fingers at a semi-fast synchronized pace, digits bumping against that special that had your toes curling.

geto eyed your lonely breast and brought his free hand up to tweak at your nipple, gojo following suit. there was so much going on and your poor little brain could only handle so much before you were spluttering out nonsense making the two men chuckle.

“look at how wet she is….dripping all over the fucking bed,” geto groaned, pushing his aching erection against the edge of your bed. anything to find a little relief he’s only human. “she’s squeezing so tight i think she’s gonna cum again!” gojo moved his hand from your nipple to your clit, rubbing tight little circles that had your thighs trembling.

you weren’t able to give them a verbal warning of intense orgasm, the only signal being being the clear stream of cum shooting from your pussy each time they pulled their fingers out. “catch some, but don’t swallow,” geto grunted, shoving gojos head down to catch some of your squirt in his already watering mouth.

once you were done they both slowly pulled their fingers out, a small whine leaving your lips from the emptiness. geto turned to gojo, his breathing uneven. “you know what to do,” he nodded his head towards you and gojo quickly understood, slowly crawling up the bed to where you laid, glazed eyes staring up the the ceiling with a fucked out smile on your face.

“open your mouth for him,” geto grunted squeezing the plushness of your thigh. you obliged and slowly opened your mouth, quickly met with the tart, tangy taste of your cum mixed in with a little of gojos spit. geto hummed happily giving your tummy a soft kiss, “that was fun, messy but fun nonetheless.”

the next twenty minutes were spent catering to your every need ofc. gojo having you between his legs, long arms wrapped around your waist while geto gently cleaned the mess up between your thighs. “did so good for us angel, thank you for letting us indulge in you,” gojo smiled, giving your hip a loving squeeze.

they both had raging boners but in this moment it was all about you but hey!! maybe once your rested up you’ll let them put both their dicks in you!! but don’t tell gojo that rn he might bust in his pants the poor thing :((

#hey….how yall doin….#idk what this is but i was bored and high and yeah #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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musicandotherdelights · 5 years ago

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Daily Listening, Day #52 - February 21st, 2020

Album: Synchronicity (A&M, 1983)

Artist: The Police

Genre: New Wave, Pop Rock

Track Listing:

"Synchronicity I"

"Walking In Your Footsteps"

"O My God"

"Mother"

"Miss Gradenko"

"Synchronicity II"

"Every Breath You Take"

"King Of Pain"

"Wrapped Around Your Finger"

"Tea In The Sahara"

"Murder By Numbers"

Favorite Song: "Tea In The Sahara"

#Synchronicity #The Police #A&M #New Wave #Pop Rock #1983 #Mid 1980s #1980s

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ilovolderman · 1 month ago

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Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: It’s game night, and Sam is being extra suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, uno

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It was a Monday, and Sam Wilson was once again spiraling.

Not because he had a particularly bad day or because a rogue pigeon had decided his sandwich was a target. No, Sam’s mental breakdown was much more subtle, much more insidious.

It was because of the vibe.

The vibe was off.

At first, it was innocent. Steve had invited everyone over for "a quiet evening," which meant they were playing board games and pretending they weren't all secretly trying to outsmart each other with complex strategies and alliances.

But it wasn’t the games that were bothering Sam.

It was you and Bucky, like always.

You and Bucky entered the living room at the same time. He was holding a bag of fries like it was an offering, and you had a look on your face like you were trying to keep from laughing at a private joke. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Sam’s gut tightened. He'd been through this before.

He had a sixth sense for this kind of thing.

A totally normal looking Bucky waved at Sam, but there was something about the way he did it—too casual, too... loaded. You smiled as you sat down on the couch, and Bucky followed.

Then, the thing happened.

You both reached for the same side of the couch at the same time. And you didn’t immediately pull away like people usually do when they're not on the verge of launching into some kind of... well, whatever this was.

You just... stayed there.

Sam squinted, his eyes narrowing like he was a detective trying to crack an impossible case. This was the moment. The moment when his suspicions shifted from theory to solid fact.

Sam wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly—without explanation—Bucky’s arm was draped over the back of the couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A few moments passed.

Still no words.

Just an... unsettling silence as you both stared ahead at the game unfolding in front of you.

Sam looked from you, to Bucky, then back to you. His fingers twitched. The notepad was in his lap, but he hadn’t written a single thing down yet. How was he supposed to document what was happening?

It was... too subtle.

He turned to Steve. “Are they—?”

Steve, blissfully unaware, was deep into his Monopoly strategy. “Hmm?”

“Do you notice anything... off about them?” Sam asked, nodding toward the couch.

Steve glanced over and blinked. “What? They’re sitting next to each other?”

Sam clenched his jaw. “It’s the way they’re sitting. They’re... too comfortable. Like they’re already sharing the same DNA. You see that?”

Steve squinted for a moment, then shrugged. “I think you’re reading too much into it.”

Sam was about to respond when Tony strolled into the room, “What’s this about reading into things?” he asked casually, taking a seat next to Steve.

“They’re being weird,” Sam muttered, pointing to the couch.

Tony leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean how they’re subtly acting like they’ve been married for thirty years, without the commitment?”

Sam’s eye twitched.

Tony grinned at the chaos unfolding in Sam’s mind. “Don’t overthink it, Sammy. Some people just get comfortable with each other.” He took a sip from his glass.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky were still sitting there, but now you were exchanging an absurdly synchronized look.

You both looked at each other like you were reading a secret book written in a language only the two of you could understand. The silence was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then—just as Sam felt his sanity slip away completely—you both laughed. At nothing.

A soft, almost eerie laugh, like you were in on some joke only the two of you got.

Tony, who was now practically snickering, leaned over and whispered to Steve, “We should’ve put money on it. Sam’s on the edge, and he’s about to combust.”

Sam stood up abruptly, looking at the pair on the couch, then back at Steve, his eyes wide with the fury of a thousand unanswered questions. “That’s it. I’m gonna ask them directly.”

“Oh, no,” Steve said, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “You really don’t want to.”

But Sam was too far gone. His mind was locked in a war with his instincts. He marched over to the couch, put his hands on his hips, and shot you and Bucky an unrelenting stare.

Bucky didn’t even look at Sam, he was handing you the fries, leaning toward you. You smiled at Bucky like he was the best thing since sliced bread, and Sam felt his soul physically leave his body.

This was it. This was the moment that proved it.

"You two are literally a walking romcom," Sam spat out in a low voice, too quietly for anyone to hear except you and Bucky. "I see it. The fries. The eye contact. It’s like... like... a plot."

You smirked. “What’s your deal, Sam? I’m just getting some fries. Everyone loves fries.”

Bucky nodded, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his grin. “Yeah, Sam. What’s your deal?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You guys. Are you really gonna sit there and keep telling me you’re just friends?”

Both of you paused. The air felt like it shifted, like it thickened, as if the universe was waiting for the punchline. Sam’s pulse quickened.

And then, in perfect unison, both of you said:

“We’re friends.”

Sam stared at you both, utterly dumbfounded.

“Friends?” he whispered in horror. “With... this?”

You both blinked at him innocently.

“Of course,” you said.

“We’re just good pals,” Bucky added, just barely holding in a laugh.

“I—I can’t,” Sam muttered, trying to make sense of the absolute absurdity unfolding before him.

Bucky slapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, like the world’s least convincing therapist. “You’ll get there, Sam. You just have to let go and stop thinking so hard about it.”

Sam made a strangled noise that could’ve been a scream or the noise of a man who had just realized he was doomed. He glanced at Peter, who was giving him a look of pure, unfiltered sympathy.

“Is this some kind of test?” Sam asked, his voice rising. “Am I being pranked? Are you two secretly married? Or, like... I don’t know, are you... trying to get a rise out of me?”

Bucky leaned forward slightly. “No, Sam. We’re just casually enjoying life... together.”

“Together,” Sam repeated, clutching his head dramatically. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then, just to make sure he was completely defeated, you reached over, casually brushing your hand against Bucky’s arm before giving him a tiny, affectionate squeeze.

Sam blinked. His notebook hit the floor with a dramatic thud.

“I knew it.” he gasped, and then, as if the universe had somehow heard him, he heard Natasha’s voice from across the room, still half-asleep:

“Sam, you’re being ridiculous. Just let them enjoy the vibes.”

Sam’s soul left his body.

Meanwhile, you and Bucky exchanged yet another impossibly synchronized glance.

Tony, still grinning, patted Sam on the back. “Don’t worry. One day you’ll look back on this and laugh. Just not today.”

And with that, Sam grabbed his coat, shook his head, and walked out the door.

Meanwhile, Bucky reached over, snagged the last of the fries, and handed them to you. “You think he’s buying it?”

You shrugged. “Nah, I think we’ve got him exactly where we want him.”

Bucky smirked. “Good. Let’s mess with him some more tomorrow.”

The room was quiet now. The chaos had died down. Steve had gone to clean up the kitchen, Tony had retreated to a mysterious project involving lasers, and Natasha was now fully asleep, curled up with a blanket over her face on the armchair.

That left just you and Bucky, still curled on the couch — the battlefield of your dramatic emotional warfare against Sam.

You reached over to the coffee table and grabbed the deck of Uno cards you’d swiped earlier. You looked at Bucky with a mischievous little glint in your eye.

“Wanna play?”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I thought we already emotionally destroyed a man tonight. Isn’t that enough chaos for one evening?”

You started shuffling the deck, your fingers moving deftly. “Just one game. Come on. I promise not to make you cry.”

“Oh, please,” Bucky said, grabbing a throw pillow and tossing it at you. “You’re only confident because you’ve been cheating.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “I do not cheat! I win with style.”

“Sure,” Bucky said, lounging comfortably as he took the cards you dealt him. “Style, manipulation, same thing.”

The game started quietly, the soft rustle of cards filling the silence. You both sat cross-legged on the couch, knees bumping occasionally. The warm, low lamp cast a golden hue over everything, and the mood had shifted from chaos to... something soft. Comfortable.

Halfway through the game, you narrowed your eyes. “You’re letting me win.”

Bucky paused mid-draw. “What?”

You pointed at his hand. “You had a +4 and a Reverse like, four rounds ago. You haven’t played either.”

He blinked, all innocent puppy eyes. “What are you talking about? Maybe I just forgot.”

You squinted harder. “James Buchanan Barnes. Do not lie to me.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “Fine. Maybe I’m letting you win a little. You get this cute little proud look when you think you’ve cornered me. It’s adorable.”

Your face flushed, and you tossed your card at him. “That’s cheating in a different way.”

“It’s strategic emotional warfare,” Bucky replied smoothly, grinning as he finally laid down a card. “I’m adapting to modern combat.”

You crossed your arms, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Well, stop it. I want a fair game.”

He nodded solemnly, eyes twinkling. “Understood. No mercy.”

You resumed playing, and this time he was relentless—Reverse, Skip, Draw Two. You shrieked in betrayal as your carefully constructed hand crumbled.

“This is what happens when you ask for a fair game,” Bucky said, laughing.

“I take it back!” you shouted, laughing as you threw your hands up. “Bring back the gentle sabotage!”

Bucky leaned over, gathering the cards again, but this time he didn’t start a new game. He looked at you, expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now. “Being here with you… it just makes everything else fade out..”

You tilted your head, suddenly serious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached over and brushed a piece of lint off your sleeve. “Feels like home. Like peace.”

Your heart melted a little, the kind of soft ache that came when you realized you were exactly where you were supposed to be. You shifted closer, your legs pressed gently against his, and rested your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move for a moment—then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you just a little closer, like muscle memory.

“Uno?” you whispered.

“Only if I get to win this time,” he whispered back.

You smiled into his shoulder. “We’ll see.”

And in the warm, quiet room, surrounded by discarded fries and chaos-shaped memories, the two of you played on.

“Uno,” you announced, placing your second-to-last card down with a triumphant grin.

Bucky stared at you in betrayal. “You said we were being nice this round!”

You shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I was nice. I could’ve skipped you again. You should be thanking me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hmm?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence as he picked up a card from the draw pile.

You squinted at him. “Say it again.”

He leaned in, his voice low and smooth like velvet. “You heard me.”

Your heart fluttered. Stupidly. Ridiculously. And yet, you couldn’t stop the shy smile that spread across your face. You rolled your eyes and tried to keep your cool, placing your final card down with a flourish.

“Game,” you declared smugly.

Bucky groaned and dropped his hand. “Unbelievable. First you destroy Sam’s psyche, now you destroy my winning streak.”

“I’m on fire tonight,” you said, laughing.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes softening as he looked at you. “You really are.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like something was shifting again. Not in a chaotic, Sam-spiral kind of way. In the way the air gets thicker when something good is about to happen.

He leaned forward, slow and certain.

You met him halfway.

The kiss was soft. Unhurried. His hand cupped your cheek gently, thumb brushing along your skin like he’d been waiting forever for the right moment and wanted to savor it now that it was here. You melted into it, your fingers curling into the sleeve of his henley.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, and you both just... stayed there.

No words. No teasing. Just you and him and the warm hum of everything unspoken.

You yawned a moment later, trying (and failing) to hide it behind your hand.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a tiny kiss to your temple. “Okay, game champ. Time for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” you said, already half-asleep against his shoulder.

“You just yawned into my clavicle.”

“Coincidence,” you mumbled, snuggling closer.

He smiled, shifting so you were tucked more comfortably into his side. He grabbed the discarded throw blanket and wrapped it around both of you.

“You’re staying right here,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

You made a sleepy little noise of agreement, already drifting.

And as the last of the game night chaos faded into silence, Bucky pressed one more kiss to your hair, rested his cheek against your head, and held you close.

Neither of you moved for a long, long time.

Hours later, the room was wrapped in a sleepy kind of silence, warm and golden under the dim light.

You and Bucky were curled up on the couch, tangled beneath a blanket, both long since surrendered to sleep. Your head was tucked against his chest, his arm securely around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. His metal fingers rested gently against your side, thumb unconsciously tracing small, soothing circles.

It was peaceful.

Quiet.

Almost.

From the armchair in the corner, Natasha Romanoff slowly opened one eye.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just... observed.

Because of course she’d heard everything. The kiss. The whispers. The “you’re lucky you’re cute.” The affectionate laughter. The unmistakable sound of two people falling completely, irrevocably into something more.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.

She watched as Bucky instinctively pulled you closer in his sleep, like even unconscious, he wasn’t letting you drift far. You murmured something incoherent and nuzzled into him, and he murmured something back that sounded suspiciously like your name and definitely like trouble.

Natasha shook her head slightly, amusement flickering across her face.

“You two are the worst,” she whispered to herself, barely audible over the sound of the heater kicking on. “Hopeless.”

But her voice was warm. Fond.

She leaned back into her chair, pulled her blanket tighter around her, and closed her eyes again—smiling like she’d just watched the final twist in a very long-running, extremely satisfying spy mission.

She wasn’t going to tell.

Not yet.

After all, what fun would it be if she ruined the secret when she could just enjoy watching the rest of the team slowly unravel trying to figure it out?

She’d wait.

She could keep a secret.

For now.

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier@softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym@starstruckfirecat @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @oliviaohanessian1 @arignipanja574 @creat0r-cat @katheriner1999 @kaiari @authoressskr @antisocialfiore @f-1-girlies-blog @ifilwtmfc @darkrock3t @navs-bhat @ravenswritingroom @lunawitchbitchraven @elfypineapple

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downbad4sylus · 5 months ago

Text

“Sylus, something’s wrong.”

(inspired by this post)

synopsis: After an impromptu mission with Sylus, you have a sudden flare up of your Protocore Syndrome.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; angst. so much angst; zayne cameo; happy ending; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: been cooking this up for a while, then was inspired by the post referenced above. hope everyone enjoys like two thousand words of pure angst :D

Sylus always enjoyed tagging along on your missions. He enjoyed all the time he spent with you of course, but fighting beside you was like seeing a physical manifestation of how far you’d come in your relationship. You moved in perfect synchronicity, supporting and anticipating the other’s moves without so much as a word passed between you. And when you resonated, when your powers combined and your light filled his darkness, Sylus felt like he was floating on air. Oh how far you’d come with him, and now you were his and only his.

Working in tandem, you and Sylus finished off the last of the Wanderers that had interrupted your walk through the park, the protofield dissipating.

Breathing heavily, but otherwise unharmed, you checked your Hunter’s Watch. “The area’s all clear,” you announced.

“That was fun, sweetie,” Sylus drawled with a grin. “We should fight Wanderers on our walks more often.”

You chucked. “They do spice things up, don’t they?”

“They do,” he agreed. He held out his hand for yours. “Come, let’s go sit and catch our breaths.”

Smiling, you reached for his hand—

A sudden wave of discomfort washed over you. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Sweetie?”

Instinctively, the hand that reached for his retreated, curling against your chest.

You looked up into Sylus’s red, gem-like eyes and took a staggering step toward him. “Sylus, something’s wrong. I don’t feel right.”

Sylus’s face twisted with concern, and he closed what little distance lay between you, gently gripping your upper arms. “What is it? Tell me.”

“My…heart...”

You went limp.

Sylus caught you before you could fall, tilting your head up. “Y/N?”

No answer, you were unconscious.

Sylus was well aware of your heart condition, however for as long as he’d known you, you’d never had a flare up.

A fear he hadn’t felt before—so visceral in the way it stole the air from his lungs—washed over him.

He didn’t know what to do.

You never told him what he was supposed to do if this happened.

What was he supposed to do?

Sylus moved on instinct alone, sweeping you into his arms as he strode for his car. He pulled your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it with practiced ease, and scrolled through your contacts until he found who he was looking for.

It rang only once before the caller picked up.

“Y/N, should I be worried you’re calling me out of the blue like this?” asked the cool, slightly amused voice.

“Are you at the hospital?” Sylus questioned, trying very hard to keep the panic from his voice.

He felt the shift in demeanor through the phone.

“Who is this?”

He might have appreciated Dr. Zayne’s suspicion were these different circumstances, but right now, Sylus didn’t have the patience for it.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus snapped. “Are you at the hospital?”

There was a pause. “Yes, I’m at the hospital. Is Y/N all right?”

Sylus swallowed against the growing lump in his throat and choked out, “It’s her heart.”

Zayne swore softly. “How far away are you?” His tone was more frantic now, mirroring Sylus’s own inner turmoil.

“Maybe ten minutes,” Sylus said, finally reaching his car. He didn’t bother to put you in the passenger seat, he simply held your limp body in his lap as he started the car and peeled out of the parking lot.

“Come to the emergency room, I’ll have a stretcher and team ready by the time you arrive.”

The line went dead, so Sylus tossed your phone onto the empty passenger seat and focused on the road ahead of him.

He weaved in and out of traffic, ignoring a myriad of laws to do so. He didn’t care about the others cars on the road, or the pedestrians trying to cross the street, all that mattered to him was you.

Sylus kissed the top of your head, willing and praying for you to be okay. “Come on,” he whispered, his hand tightening around the steering wheel, “just hold on a little longer for me, kitten.”

—

Pulling up to the curb in front of Akso Hospital’s emergency room, Sylus had barely put the car in park before barreling out, leaving the door wide open as he ran for the entrance with you cradled in his arms.

Zayne was waiting inside, just as he’d said, with a team of doctors and a stretcher. Sylus carefully laid you out on the stretcher, keeping your hand in his.

“What happened?” Zayne asked, leading the team out of the lobby and into the emergency ward.

“We were fighting Wanderers,” Sylus explained, “Y/N wasn’t injured but she said something was wrong all of sudden, and before she collapsed, she said it was her heart.”

Zayne, with a clinical precision, began barking orders at his team of which Sylus paid no attention. He was laser focused on you, on your unconscious form on the stretcher, on the hand he gripped tightly with his own.

He couldn’t lose you, not so soon after he’d finally been able to call you his.

Only moments later, Zayne stopped at another set of double doors, marked for hospital staff only.

“I need to evaluate Y/N’s condition and from there I’ll determine the best course of treatment,” he explained as the team rolled you through the doors, your hand slipping from Sylus’s grasp. “I’ll update you when I can. You can wait in my office, just ask one of the nurses at the front for directions.”

Zayne didn’t wait for Sylus’s reply and strode through the doors after you.

Sylus stood frozen for a moment, still in shock that this was even happening. That you were no longer by his side and he now had to wait for updates on your condition.

He felt so useless, and Sylus hated feeling useless.

Sylus wrestled with his emotions as he finally moved from the doors and headed toward Zayne’s office. He knew the way, he’d memorized the location of where your doctor conducted your check ups long ago.

He was furious with himself as he stalked through the halls. He was supposed to take care of you but now had to rely on others to do it for him. Sylus could heal your physical wounds with his Evol, but he wouldn’t dare touch your heart with it for fear he would do much more harm than good. He did not have the wealth of knowledge and experience of Protocore Syndrome like Zayne. He could do nothing but pass you off to those more equipped to help you. He could do nothing but wait and pray that you’d be okay.

—

Sylus waited in Zayne’s office for hours.

Naturally, he’d searched through its entirety. It was mostly out of the need to do something more than just sit around and wait.

There wasn’t much of note, but Sylus did notice a few odds and ends on Zayne’s desk that he knew had come from you. Again, were the circumstances different, Sylus would’ve been more upset seeing your touches on your doctor’s desk, touches that should be reserved solely for him and no one else. But rather than be upset, seeing these things only produced a hollow ache in Sylus’s chest.

Would he lose the touches you made in his life? Would the growing collection of odds and ends on his desk back at the base stop in its tracks, never to be added to again? Would the slow plushy takeover of his bed, his couches, cease as well? What would he do with your things? He couldn’t get rid of them, but would he be able to bear looking at them, day in and day out, knowing you were no longer there alongside them? Alongside him?

The pain of losing you quite literally knocked Sylus off his feet. He collapsed on the couch, burying his face in his hands.

He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

Sylus wondered if this was how you felt after you’d lost him, in another lifetime amongst a field of flowers. He prayed that fate be kind to him, that fate spare you, so he could make it up to you, for leaving you as he did. He would shower you in love, to make up for a lifetime lost but also to promise a lifetime anew. He never took you for granted, not for one second, but if you survived this, he would make damn sure you knew how much he loved and appreciated you.

The office door opening tore Sylus from his thoughts, his head snapping up to find Zayne striding toward him. The doctor sat on the couch beside Sylus, staring at his hands. Sylus noticed the scars on his arms, peeking out from his slightly rolled up sleeves.

“Y/N is stable,” Zayne said, prompting a tidal wave of relief to crash over Sylus. “Her flare up was nothing too serious this time, but she’ll need to rest for a few weeks before returning to work.” Zayne met Sylus’s gaze, hazel tinged with green locked on striking, ruby-red. “Can I trust you’ll make her follow my treatment plan?”

Despite himself, Sylus huffed a laugh. “She is a stubborn one, isn’t she?”

“To a fault,” replied Zayne.

“Yeah, I’ll make her,” said Sylus. “I have no intention of having her repeat this anytime soon. Once was more than enough for me.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Zayne rose from the couch. “Would you like to see her?”

—

Seeing you laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to an IV, your steady pulse beeping from the heart monitor, was a sight that almost brought Sylus to his knees.

At first glance, he thought you were dead, despite knowing that Zayne had said you were stable. But even as his emotions caught up with his logic, it was still a hard pill from him to swallow.

As Zayne stayed near the door to give you both a semblance of privacy, Sylus swiftly crossed the room and sat in the chair beside the bed, taking your hand without the IV needle in it between both of his.

“I’m here, sweetie,” he murmured, running his thumb along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Your brow furrowed as your nose scrunched. Your eyes opened slowly, as if hearing Sylus’s voice had roused you into consciousness.

You blinked slowly, taking in the strange space in front of you. It took a few moments before it became clear, before you realized you were in the hospital, when the last thing you remembered was being in the park with Sylus.

Sylus.

Your gaze drifted to where he sat at your bedside, cradling your hand in both of his. “Sy?” you croaked. “Why are we at the hospital? I thought we were at the park.”

His face was nothing but tender as he looked at you, providing you with an innate sense of safety and comfort. “We were,” he said softly. “What do you remember?”

“We fought some Wanderers…and we were going to sit on a bench to catch our breaths…and then nothing,” you said.

“Before we could sit, you told me that you didn’t feel right,” Sylus explained. “You said something was wrong with your heart, and then you fainted. I brought you straight to the hospital.”

Your brows knitted. “Is Zayne here?”

“I am, Y/N,” Zayne said, moving from his spot near the door to the end of your bed.

“Doctor Zayne.” You managed a small smile. “What’s the prognosis?”

The exasperation was clear in your doctor’s expression as he grabbed your chart and looked it over. “You’ll live,” he replied dryly.

You chuckled. “Isn’t that a relief.”

Sylus squeezed your hand and you looked to him. He was frowning and did not seem remotely amused at your attempt at levity. Knowing you had probably scared the poor man half to death, you resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“You’ll need to stay overnight for observation,” Zayne continued, either unaware or uncaring of yours and Sylus’s silent conversation. “As long as your vitals are normal come the morning, you’ll be able to go home, under a strict treatment regiment of course.”

You rolled your eyes, earning another disapproving squeeze from Sylus.

Zayne glanced up from your chart, meeting your gaze.

“Thank you, doctor,” you said to him, genuinely meaning it.

“It’s my job,” was his simple reply. He glanced between you and Sylus. “I’ll leave you for now, but I’ll be back later to check on you.”

“Thank you,” Sylus said, surprising you.

Zayne gave a curt nod before making a swift exit.

You opened your mouth to speak to Sylus but was interrupted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” you asked when he made no move to retrieve it.

He shook his head. “It’s just the twins looking for an update.” He reached up with one of his hands, gently cupping your cheek. “How do you feel?”

You leaned into his touch. “I feel okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again.” There was a rare vulnerability in Sylus’s voice as he said those words, one that told you all you needed to know about the time he spent while Zayne was treating you.

But you couldn’t make him that promise. You knew that, and you knew he knew that.

Still, this didn’t stop you from saying, “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Sylus rose from the chair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I love you too much to lose you, okay?” he whispered against your skin.

“Okay,” you whispered back. “And I love you too.”

—

Bonus:

“No rigorous activity of any kind for at least a week,” Zayne instructed harshly as he wrapped up your strict treatment plan before you were to be discharged. A positively smug glint sparkled in his eyes as he said, “That includes sexual activity.”

Your face went beet red. “Zayne!” you exclaimed, burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “Why would you say that?! I understood what you meant!”

“It’s a doctor’s duty to be as detailed as possible when giving a patient’s treatment plan,” he responded with a slight smirk.

“I’m seeing Greyson from now on.”

“Let’s not be dramatic.”

“Zayne! Just let me go home already!”

As Sylus silently observed the back and forth, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he might actually like your doctor.

#l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus angst #lads angst #love and deepspace angst #l&ds angst

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compassionmattersmost · 30 days ago

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May 26th, 2025 - Synchronized Global Meditations for World Peace, Love & Harmony: Everyone is Welcome 🙏

Global Well-Being: The Creation of Healing, Love, and Compassion Every Day and in Every Way—Especially on the New Moon, Around the World. Hello Everyone! Let’s come together again as a Global Community! Every New Moon, we have the opportunity to unite in prayer and meditation to create strong waves of vibrational intentionality—focusing on Loving-kindness and compassion. Whether we connect at…

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romerona · 5 months ago

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The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

You sat at the table, doing your best to appear interested as your date droned on about his latest work achievements. Something about managing accounts, sealing big deals, and being “essential” to the success of his company. You’d lost track of the details five minutes in, your polite smile starting to feel like a workout for your face.

“…but you wouldn’t get that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, like you were a child. “Teaching kids and all. It’s like... coloring books and snack time, right?”

Your smile faltered, and you tightened your grip on the stem of your wine glass, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Not quite. It’s actually pretty challenging—teaching is about shaping young minds, not just... crayons.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding like he wasn’t really listening. “But you have to admit, it’s not exactly high stakes.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin stretching across his face. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken,” you replied tightly, though the bile creeping up your neck said otherwise. You took a slow sip of your wine, hoping the glass might serve as a buffer between his words and your patience. Spoiler: it wasn’t working.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself for agreeing to this. What had Ava said when she pitched the idea? “Girl, you’re way too cute to be single and wasting away in that apartment of yours. You need to get out there. Shake things up. And this guy? Total catch—tall, successful, and probably rich. You’re welcome.”

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Ava’s relentless confidence had rubbed off on you, and the idea of putting yourself out there sounded... productive, if not promising. After all, your secret crush on your cute neighbor wasn’t going anywhere.

Carmy.

You couldn’t help but think about him as Ben prattled on about his “huge network.” Carmy was quiet, focused, and sweet in a way you didn’t think he realized. But he was also impossible to read. Sure, you’d had a few conversations here and there, shared a laugh or two, but he’d never made a move. You hadn’t either—paralyzed by the thought of misinterpreting things and embarrassing yourself.

Which is how you’d ended up here, with Ben. Wonderful, condescending Ben, who clearly thought your life’s work was a joke.

“And this place,” Ben said, gesturing around the restaurant with a smug grin. “Pretty great, right? Super exclusive. I know a guy who knows the chef here. Heard he’s like, a genius or something. Figured we’d go all out.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, suddenly more aware of the upscale decor—the polished wood tables, the soft amber glow of the overhead lights, and the quiet hum of conversation that seemed to fill the air like music. It was... fancier than you’d expected.

The Bear.

You’d heard of it, of course—who hadn’t? It was one of those places people raved about, where getting a reservation was an accomplishment in itself. The kind of place where you know the food would be incredible, but the bill would make you question your life choices. Nice, but you were pretty sure you could only afford, like, a cup of water here.

Ben leaned in closer, grinning smugly. “This chef guy? Supposedly some kind of prodigy. I don’t know the details, but people say he’s a big deal. Good thing I’ve got connections, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, noncommittal, as you glanced toward the bustling kitchen. A wave of heat and light spilled out from behind the pass, where you could just make out the shadowed figures of chefs moving in synchronized chaos.

As you sipped from your wine glass, trying to find something redeemable about Ben’s endless self-promotion, you wondered if maybe Ava had oversold this whole “dating adventure” thing.

Carmy spotted you the second you walked in.

He’d been at the pass, focused on plating an intricate dish—a delicate arrangement of seared scallops and edible flowers—when his gaze drifted toward the dining room. His hands paused mid-motion, a faint crease forming between his brows as he recognized you.

You were hard to miss, sitting near the window in a corner booth, your posture poised but just slightly tense. Dressed in something a little sleeker than usual, you looked... different. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way— Not that you ever looked anything less than beautiful, but tonight, something about you seemed… striking, enough that he found himself staring longer than he should’ve.

His eyes flicked to the guy sitting across from you. The guy who was laughing too loud, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, gesturing with wild hands as he talked. You, on the other hand, wore a polite smile that didn’t quite light up the room as it usually did.

Carmy’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure why the sight of you with someone else tugged at his chest the way it did, but it lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

It’s none of your business, he told himself, forcing his focus back to the dish in front of him. You weren’t his to worry about.

You weren’t his at all.

Still, his gaze flicked back toward your table, almost involuntarily, catching the way your date seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Carmy’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe for the guy to notice the way you played with your napkin or to tone down his boisterous tone—but it wasn’t this.

“Chef?” Sydney’s voice broke his focus, sharp but professional.

“Yeah,” he muttered, snapping back to reality. His eyes returned to the plate in front of him, the arrangement now slightly skewed from his distraction. He adjusted it quickly, his movements precise but tighter than usual. “Thanks, Chef.”

As Sydney moved on, Carmy risked one last glance at you. The corner booth, the dim lighting, the guy who couldn’t seem to shut up—it all felt wrong. But he pushed it down, buried it under the quiet rhythm of the kitchen, telling himself it wasn’t his place to care.

And yet, he did.

He cared enough to, like some kind of creep, step out of the kitchen and hover near the hallway that led to the restrooms. It wasn’t a plan—not really. He told himself he just needed a breather, a moment to clear his head and shake off the knot in his chest. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

The low hum of the restaurant buzzed in his ears as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d say if you saw him. Maybe he’d play it off, and act like he just happened to be there. But then, what were the odds you’d even notice him? You were here with someone else, after all.

It was ridiculous, he knew that—irrational even— he should go back, really what the fuck was he thinking--

But the sound of heels clicking softly against the floor pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. His breath hitched as you turned the corner, and your expression turned to one of shock when you spotted him.

“Carmy?” you said, stopping mid-step. Your voice carried a note of surprise, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe, or even relief at seeing a familiar face in such an unfamiliar situation.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little straighter, as if he hadn’t just been loitering near the hallway like a guilty teenager. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You blinked, your eyes flicking over his clothes—the crisp white uniform. The realization dawned on you, and your brows lifted in surprise.

“You work here?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “I, uh... I own it.”

Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he said again, a bit softer this time. His lips twitched into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “I started it a while back. Kind of… a long story.”

You took a moment to process this revelation, glancing around the restaurant as if seeing it in a new light. The warm lighting, the carefully plated dishes you’d glimpsed on their way to other tables—it all made sense now. Of course, this was Carmy’s place. It was thoughtful, deliberate, but somehow unpretentious.

“Wow,” you said, meeting his gaze again. “That’s... impressive.”

Carmy shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s just work. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” you repeated, a small laugh escaping as you gestured toward the elegant decor. “Carmy, this place is gorgeous. You’re way too modest.”

"Thanks," His lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on you, searching before he added, “You didn’t look like you were having a great time out there.”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic, your surprise melting into something closer to embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said, glancing toward the dining room before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s... it’s a date.”

Carmy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression didn’t waver.

“Figured,” he muttered, his voice steady but low.

“Not a great one,” you admitted, your lips quirking into a dry smile. “Blind date, courtesy of Ava. It’s... fine, I guess. He’s just... not my type.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s your type, then?”

The question caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as his words hung in the air. You laughed softly, deflecting. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t treat teaching like it’s a hobby or call it a job anyone can do.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, and he shook his head in disbelief. “He did not say that.”

You groaned dramatically, closing your eyes as if the memory physically pained you. “Oh, but he did. Word for word, and I quote: ‘Teaching is important, I guess. But it’s gotta be, like… easy, right? Summers off, finger painting, all that?’ And then—then!—he laughed. Like he’d just unlocked the secret to stand-up comedy.”

Carmy blinked, his smirk fading into something closer to incredulity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You’d think he was trying out his Type Five for open mic night. And the pièce de résistance? He throws in the classic ‘no offense.’ Like that’s a verbal Ctrl+Z or something.”

That earned a real laugh from Carmy this time, his shoulders shaking slightly as he shook his head. “What the hell? So, this is what you’re dealing with?”

“Oh, but I’m thriving,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm waving your hand dismissively. “Peak romantic energy. Nothing like being told my career is a glorified arts-and-crafts workshop to really get the sparks flying.”

Carmy leaned slightly against the wall, crossing his arms as he listened. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, maybe, or quiet disbelief. “And you’re still out there?”

“Excellent question, Chef Carmy,” you said, pointing at him with mock gravity. “I think it’s a mix of morbid curiosity, sheer stubbornness, and maybe a touch of guilt. I mean, he did spring for the wine. Even if he did refer to it as a ‘top-shelf pour.’”

That made Carmy snort, his head dropping slightly as he tried to compose himself. “Top-shelf pour, huh? Sounds like a real charmer.”

You laughed softly, though there was a bite of bitterness in it. “Oh, totally. It’s been a real dream date. Honestly, if he makes one more crack about teaching being ‘easy,’ I might just—” You mimed strangling someone, your hands curling dramatically as you added a mock growl for effect.

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, your grin sharpening. “It might get me out of this date, but I’m pretty sure assault charges aren’t a great look for me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.”

Your playful energy dimmed slightly as you glanced toward the dining room. “Anyway, I should probably get back out there before he starts mansplaining the wine list to the waitress. Again.”

Carmy’s lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but instead, he straightened up quickly, the weight of his role as head chef settling back onto his shoulders. “Yeah, I should... head back to the kitchen too. Got a lot to wrap up tonight.”

You turned back to him, your expression softening. “Thanks, by the way,” you said, holding his gaze. “For... checking in, I guess. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged a gesture that looked casual but felt like it carried more weight. His voice dropped slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I did.”

The words hung there for a beat, his meaning lingering just beneath the surface as the two of you locked eyes. The air between you felt heavy, almost tangible, like a thread being pulled taut. You wanted to say something—anything. Maybe a joke to break the tension, or maybe the truth: that you liked him, that you wished it was him sitting across from you tonight, making you laugh instead of testing your patience.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmy’s thoughts ran dangerously close to yours. He’d been replaying every interaction with you since the day you moved in next door, every laugh, every casual smile. The thought of you with someone else—someone who didn’t seem to notice the little things about you the way he did—made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

But before either of you could give voice to the thoughts swirling in your heads, the faint sound of your date’s voice carried through the hallway, breaking the moment like a needle scratching across a record. You winced slightly, the weight of reality pulling you back.

“Ugh. That’s my cue,” you said, shooting Carmy an exaggerated grimace. “Duty calls.”

Carmy nodded, his expression carefully neutral, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to keep in check. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” you said with a wry grin. “I’ll need it.”

Despite his words, his gaze lingered on yours, as if searching for something unspoken. For a moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d say something more, but instead, he stepped back, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See you around,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, your heart squeezing as you turned to head back toward the dining room. “See you around.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were leaving something unfinished behind. And Carmy, watching you go, felt much the same, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the urge to call after you.

When he finally turned back toward the kitchen, his jaw tightened, the moment still playing over in his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, willing himself to focus as he pushed open the swinging door. The familiar clatter and hum of the kitchen greeted him, but it did little to drown out the thoughts circling his head.

He barely made it three steps before Richie appeared, leaning casually against the counter with his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Richie drawled, crossing his arms. “What’s the matter, Cousin? Lose track of time out there? Or were you too busy making googly eyes at the customer? Can't blame you thought, she's gorgeous.”

Carmy’s jaw ticked, his shoulders stiffening. “Shut up, Richie.”

--------

Your date’s voice droned on, a monotonous background noise to your growing sense of regret. Why had you agreed to this? Why hadn’t you just stayed home with a glass of wine and a good book?

Just as you were contemplating an excuse to leave—feigning a sudden headache, maybe, or an urgent call from a friend—a waiter approached your table. It wasn’t the same one who had been serving you throughout the evening, but an older guy with an easy smile and a glimmering of mischief in his eyes carrying a small plate in hand. The plate held an assortment of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicate and intricate, like a tiny work of art.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him.

“It’s from the chef,” the waiter replied, his tone polite but with a glimmer of something knowing in his eyes.

Your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching as you glanced instinctively toward the kitchen pass. Sure enough, Carmy was there, leaning slightly against the counter, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze was fixed squarely on you.

Your heart gave a little jolt, heat creeping up your neck as you turned back to the table.

Your date, meanwhile, was entirely oblivious to the silent exchange. He grinned widely, puffing out his chest a little as he gestured to the plate. “See? Told you this place was top-notch. They must’ve recognized me. Perks of being a regular.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. Instead, you bit back your amusement, your lips twitching into a barely restrained smile as you reached for one of the pastries.

“Right,” you said lightly, turning the pastry over in your hand. “Must be your VIP status.”

As you took a bite, the pastry practically melted in your mouth, a perfect blend of buttery richness and delicate sweetness. It was so good it almost made you forget the company you were keeping—almost.

“You know, this kind of attention doesn’t happen just anywhere. It’s all about knowing the right people.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, taking a bite of one of the delicate confections. It melted in your mouth, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness.

When you glanced back toward the pass, Carmy was already gone, disappearing back into the kitchen as seamlessly as he’d appeared. But his gesture lingered, wrapping around you like a quiet reassurance, a small thread of comfort in an otherwise unbearable evening.

And for the first time that night, your smile wasn’t forced.

A/N: Heyyy I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to all those people who comment, like and reblog. Like fr you all make my week. Always looking for some ideas so please feel free to ask.

Also, please tell me if you want to be tagged. Be safe out there, please the world is too crazy at the moment. <3

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