#there's a tension in the air and i know both of them know it

[ghostlyferrettarot]

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚Pick A Card: Your love story with your future spouse 💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

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🥰Masterlist🥰🥰Masterlist 2🥰

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 1: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: 5 of Swords – The Tower – 2 of Cups – Knight of Wands – Justice – The Star.

Okay pile 1, you and your future spouse are starting off with a strange energy. There's some competition in the air. It's giving enemies to lovers, and Maxton Hall vibes (go watch it if you haven't ;)). There's strife, friction, a vibe of intellectual, professional, or ego rivalry. You may work together, have opposing opinions on everything, or you may simply not be able to stand each other because there's too much tension… emotional and other 👀. The Tower appears when something crucial happens between you. A heated argument, an unexpected confession, a situation that completely breaks the impression you had on eachother, etc. Whatever happens, it makes you see each other with new eyes. Something falls apart, and underneath there are feelings (even if you two dont want to admit it at first, i see you guys but it will be undeniable). There's vulnerability in this, like a "oh no… I like you" situation. This person will truly see you because you two are so much alike, you have the same fire as them. And then, without knowing how, you're sharing something real. Fights now end in laughter. Or kisses. Or both 👀. Justice shows me that you're learning to balance each other. That you're both intense, yes, but you're also learning to admire each other. To trust. To build. And the Star is pure healing. This bond transforms you. You don't just love each other: you polish each other, you elevate each other, you truly understand each other. You're going to have to swallow your pride. But it's completely worth it. It's giving rom-com, 10 Things I Hate About You, Bridgerton (season 2 specially).

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 2: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: 6 of Cups – 3 of Swords – The Lovers – Death – King of Cups – Temperance.

This story has HISTORY, I feel like this is some past energy. You and your future spouse have met before. Maybe it was young love, crushes that didn't quite work out, or someone with whom things just didn't align. There was a breakup. It hurt. Maybe you each went your separate ways, believing you'd get over it. Spoiler pile 2: you didn't get over it 🙃, and that's for the best. Maybe it was someone you met briefly and never forgot, or the other way around. Or even someone from another life. Something forced you to let go before your time. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't the ending you deserved. BUT. Fate didn't forget you. The Lovers mark the reappearance of this person. The reunion. Maybe years later. Maybe when you didn't even expect it. But love returns. And with the Death card, the energy changes radically, this time you are not the same. This time you choose each other with maturity. With awareness. And believe me, this reunion is no coincidence, it's karmic. You are not who you were. And that's good. Now you're ready. The King of Cups represents a wise, present, deep love. And Temperance is the calm after the storm. This relationship becomes a refuge. A safe space. A form of love that only exists when you've known pain and decided to heal with each other. Sometimes the timing isn't right… until it is. And then, everything falls into place as if it was always meant to be. Something that's coming to mind while i'm channeling is the movie Love Rosie, so I feel like that's the kind of story you two will have. Maybe this is a friend of yours as well, someone close.

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ Pile 3: 🀢🀣🀦🀤 Cards: The Fool – 4 of Wands – The World – Ace of Cups – Wheel of Fortune – Queen of Pentacles.

PILE 3 I'm really screaming, your romance that seems straight out of a book. This is the kind of story where you wake up one day, go about your routine like any other, and suddenly, you meet someone who completely changes the course of your life. It's that powerful energy. You're entering a new phase. Maybe you just moved, quit a job, decided to live for yourself. You're exploring, growing. And then, without even looking for it… they appear. A person who looks at you as if they've known you before. ITS GIVING SOULMATES SO HARD. You might meet at a wedding, a party, a ceremony… or even through someone else. Either way, there's an IMMEDIATE vibe of "why do I feel like I already know you?" This connection is cosmic. This person celebrates you. They're with you. They don't want to change you or rescue you: they want to see you shine. There are synchronicities everywhere, like repeated numbers, "chance" encounters, phrases that repeat themselves in your dreams. Maybe you already met them in dreams, or your higher selves have already met. With this person, you feel free, accepted, safe. The Wheel of Fortune screams to me: this is destiny. You didn't plan it. But you can't avoid it. And the Queen of Pentacles shows a stable love, the kind that is built day by day, with care, with mate in the morning and massages after a long day. With this person, you will build a beautiful life, with roots. There is emotional security, stability, and a love so real it brings peace. This is "I saw it and I knew it." It's your home in the form of a person pile 3.

💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚Thank you for reading and let me know if it resonated!💌♡✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

[oscpstri]

abu dhabi | verstappen

verstappen x rbr driver!reader,

in the final race of the season, the championship comes down to two drivers: max verstappen— desperate to prove he earned every bit of success, and you — the first woman to ever fight for a formula 1 world title.

INCLUDES: mentions of abu dhabi 2021 (don't be mean), use of y/n, angst woops, brocedes-type lore (its glaringly obvious)

NOTE: a retelling of abu dhabi 2021 bcs i just re-watched an hour-long video of the f1 controversial races lore and reflected on how their reactions were so different. no one better start bitching about it again alright, we've all moved on. also brocedes teehee!

The grid is alive with noise. Journalists, engines, anthem static. But everything feels distant.

You stand by your car, fireproofs against your skin, gloves already on. Your hands are steady, but your heart is anything but.

This is it. The final race. Equal points. One of you leaves tonight as a world champion. The other leaves with a broken heart and a highlight reel that will haunt them for decades.

You feel eyes on you. You already know who they belong to.

Max stands across the grid. He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. When your eyes meet, he looks away.

It was never supposed to be like this.

Karting kids with crooked smiles and scraped knees. You two would split ice creams and trophies on the same weekends. Your names would be written side-by-side on junior podiums then eventually on the same contract with the same team logo stitched near your heart.

This is what you two had always dreamed about— winning together, racing together, being in the same damn team together.

Friends. Teammates. Childhood buddies. Rivals. Champions in the making. Everything but a lover.

But then the title fight came. You were both fast enough to matter. The team stopped saying us and started saying one of you.

And now the both of you were on opposite sides of the garage, matching suits and silence. You haven't spoken in months— not since the 5th race of the season, when you touched wheels and you didn't check up on each other afterwards.

You can't remember the last time you laughed with him, but you remember the look on his face the day you outqualified him in his home race. You remember the day you sprayed champagne on everyone but him. You remember the day you two couldn't even look each other in the eye despite a good race result. You remember the last time he hugged you— Abu Dhabi, the year before. The year before everything.

Today is the final race of the season. Equal points. Winner takes it all.

Max raced for his father's recognition, for the childhood he lost for a stupid prize. You raced for the women in motorsport, for the journey in a sport that never expected you.

You stand on the grid, eyes forward. Max stands across from you, jaw tight. There was no nod today, no eye contact, no small smile from across the room. No pre-race banter, no fighting talk, no quiet reach for your hand.

Just tension. Just thunder.

You want to say something, he does too, but you don't. Because he made his choice. And you made yours.

You lead most of the race. He gets you on the final lap. The world explodes.

P2. Again.

You sit in your car, helmet still on, throat dry. The grandstands were loud, but all you could hear was the buzz of disappointment that rang in your ears.

"If we're ever fighting for a title, I'd rather lose to you than anyone else."

Max was 10 when he said that. You guess that promise expired once the trophy got closer.

The paddock is electric— champagne in the air, camera shutters going off, fireworks painting the night sky. Max Verstappen is the World Champion.

You walk alone. No cameras chase you, no microphones in your face. You would be the story if he wasn't the headline.

You keep your head down until the crowd starts to thin. Until the noise fades into the distance. Until it's just you. And him.

Max is leaning against the Red Bull hospitality wall, still in his suit, still wearing the championship cap, still cradling his trophy. He doesn't look victorious— he looks tired.

You stop a few feet away. Neither of you speak.

The silence stretches— thick with everything you two never said. With everything you used to be.

His eyes meet yours and for a moment, it feels like standing on that karting podium in Italy again. Fourteen years old, grinning through sweat, bumping shoulders as you raised your trophies.

But all of that is gone now.

The Max in front of you isn't your best friend. He's your rival. Your history. The reason your name isn't etched into the record books tonight.

You look at each other and for the first time in months, you see it.

Not victory. Not regret. Just recognition. That you had something once, and now it's gone.

You give him the smallest nod. He doesn't return it, just watches as you walk away.

He doesn't call your name. You don't look back.

[svt-luna]

“Queen Sel will write the aftermath smut for Soldier!!!” I say as they drag me to a psych ward kicking and screaming. 😃

𝜗℘ CANDYMAN

❛ 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘣 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦— 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘢��𝘭 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘻𝘪 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸'𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘦-𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘰𝘱, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵-𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯', 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘳-𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘯. ❜

timeline: 2024

synopsis: After coming home from Jeonghan’s military training graduation, the uniform, the weeks apart, and the tension of missing each other become too much to resist— until they finally unravel in each other’s arms.

wc: 6.7k

warnings: 18+ mdni, mature content, sexual content, smut, cursing, sexual tension, flirting, pet names, make out galore, piv sex, unprotected sex (girly pop is on birth control), teasing, dirty talk, degradation, soft dom!Jeonghan, uniform kink, Luna wears his beret during sex, oral sex, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, dry humping, riding, they are both freaky af, pure filth!

ask and you shall receive 😌 like i said before, i wasn’t planning on doing a part two for this but since A LOT of you have been asking me… here it is! here is part two or the smut aftermath of my recent one-shot Soldier. another smut for you freaky human beings! remember! read the warnings and disclaimers !

Disclaimer: The following chapter contains explicit sexual content and mature themes. It is intended for adult readers only. If you are under the legal age or find these subjects uncomfortable, it is advised for you to refrain from reading further. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

╰ ౨ৎ soldier

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Missing each other is the understatement of the year.

Missing each other means spending the first hour catching up over shared milk lattes, whispering about the little things— the taste of Jeonghan’s favorite breakfast sandwich, the way Luna always steals the covers, the new playlist she'd made just for him.

Missing each other means cuddling at home on the couch, feet tangled, watching silly rom-coms and dozing off together under one blanket.

Missing each other means cooking together in the kitchen, cheek kisses over simmering pots, hands brushing flour-dusted countertops and each other.

Missing each other means late-night pillow talk, half-shares of dreams and mischief, socks strewn across the floor, the quiet peace of two souls finally reunited.

But Luna didn't know how to categorize what she and Jeonghan were feeling right now anymore.

Because the second they reached home and the front door shut behind them with a muted click, they weren't walking, they weren't talking, they were devouring each other.

The soft clunk of Jeonghan’s boots barely registered over the rustle of fabric and the sharp, rhythmic sound of their breathing— heavy, urgent, unsynchronized like two people trying to inhale each other more than air.

The sloppy, messy sounds of their kisses echoed off the quiet walls of their house— the wet slide of lips on lips, the catch of breath between mouths, the soft gasp Luna let out when Jeonghan's hand slipped under the hem of her shirt to rest against her lower back.

Luna’s coat was still half-on, her bag still dangling from one shoulder, but neither of them cared. They didn't even make it past the entryway.

With a low grunt, Jeonghan turned her and pressed her back firmly against the door. Luna let out a surprised breath, half a laugh, half a moan. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, anchoring herself to him as he kissed her like he hadn't eaten in days and she was his first meal.

His palms roamed, slow at first, reverent almost-up her waist, then down again over the curve of her hips. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, his proximity short-circuiting her entire system.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured against her lips, voice already low and rough and raw, like it'd been building for weeks as he threw her coat to the ground.

"And you're overdressed," Luna replied with a whisper that bordered on a growl, her hands already tugging at the collar of his uniform, her fingers carding through the barely-there hair at the back of his head.

Jeonghan chuckled breathlessly, lips brushing along her jawline, down her neck. "You gonna undress me, baby?" he asked, teasing and warm, "Or do you want the honor of ripping the uniform off yourself?"

"Don't tempt me," she replied, arching into him, her breath catching when he grazed his teeth lightly along the column of her throat.

"Oh, I'm counting on it."

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut as his hands gripped her thighs and lifted her just an inch higher so her toes barely touched the ground. Her legs parted around his hips, her heels nudging the back of his calves. His hips pressed into hers, slow and deliberate.

"Hannie," she whispered, not in warning this time but in invitation.

"I missed hearing that," he said, lips moving just beneath her ear. "Missed how you say my name like it's the only one you know."

Her fingers pulled gently at his collar. "You talk so much for someone who's clearly dying.”

"Dying's a little dramatic, Nana-ya," he smirked, pulling back just enough to look at her— his flushed lips, his dark eyes that gleamed even in the low light of the hallway. "But I was definitely starving."

"And I'm dessert?"

He tilted his head. "You're dinner, dessert, and the glass of wine I need after. All in one."

Luna huffed a laugh, fingers brushing down the side of his face. "What happened to the sweet soldier act?"

Jeonghan leaned forward again, resting his forehead gently against hers, letting their breath mingle. "He graduated. This is the man who waited four weeks to do this."

"And this is the woman who almost flew the plane herself just to get here faster."

He grinned. "Fuck, I love you."

"I love you more," she whispered, tipping up to kiss him again— softer this time, lingering, like they had all the time in the world to explore each other again.

They didn't move from the front door.

Couldn't.

Wouldn't.

Their lips met again and again, chasing each other's breath like it was the only oxygen left in the world.

The kiss was deep, slow, warm, indulgent. It tasted like time lost and made up for all at once. Jeonghan's hands gripped her waist firmly, his thumbs brushing slow circles over the fabric of her top as her fingers curled around the lapel of his uniform. There was something about it— the pressed collar, the chest badge, the weight of it that made her want to tug it off and let it crumple to the floor.

But Jeonghan, being Jeonghan, broke the kiss just as Luna leaned in more. He pulled back slightly, chest rising, and let out a breath that fanned warm across her kiss-bitten lips.

"Missed you so bad," he murmured, his voice husky and thick with amusement.

Luna barely let the words register. "I know– missed you too,” she whispered, already chasing his mouth again with another kiss, lips slotting over his with need.

But he grinned against her and pulled away again just enough to make her whimper. "Did you think about me?" he asked, low and smooth, eyes gleaming with playful cruelty.

Luna's brows pinched as she whined, voice high, breathless. "Han…"

Again, she leaned forward.

Again, he moved back, just enough to keep her right on the edge.

"Oh, what's that, baby?" he teased, pretending not to hear, his grin only widening. "You want something?"

"Stop teasing," she whispered, brows furrowing further as her pout deepened, fingers tugging at the collar of his uniform like she could anchor him in place.

"Stop teasing," Jeonghan cooed, mimicking her tone obnoxiously sweet. "Stop teasing, Hannie," he repeated, voice syrupy, mocking, loving. "I should stop teasing, yeah?”

Luna let out a dramatic sigh, puffing out her cheeks in frustration as her hands gripped tighter at his collar. "You're so mean," she whined. "You always do this. You get all smug and smirky and you know exactly what you're doing and… ugh… just kiss me properly. Why do you have to make everything a game?"

His hands slid slowly up her sides and back down to her waist, grounding her. He tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers. "Because you make the cutest faces when you're mad at me," he said, thumb brushing the crease between her brows as if he could iron it flat. "Like this one," he added, cupping her cheek now with one hand while the other slid to the nape of her neck.

"Baby…”

"Shh," he murmured, nose rubbing hers. "You're so pretty when you pout."

Her lips twitched despite herself. Her pout softened. Her lashes fluttered.

And that was exactly when Jeonghan leaned in again, nose nudging hers, teasing until finally, finally, he kissed her the way she wanted.

This kiss was different— deeper, more open, with less teasing and more intention. His lips moved with slow precision, coaxing her mouth open, angling his head to deepen it. He kissed her like he meant to undo her with nothing but lips and tongue, like he was tasting something he'd been dreaming about every single night.

Luna melted into it with a soft sound in her throat, hands sliding from his collar to his chest. His uniform shifted beneath her fingers, scratchy in texture but grounding, real. Her fingers curled slightly, pulling him closer.

Jeonghan hummed into her mouth, low and satisfied, and nipped lightly at her bottom lip, enough to make her gasp before smoothing over the sting with a slow lick of his tongue.

"Better?" he whispered against her mouth.

Luna blinked up at him, dazed. "Mhm."

He smirked, his thumb now stroking beneath her jaw. "Can’t speak already?"

"Don't push it," she warned, eyes narrowing playfully.

He laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it, my pretty moon."

But the glint in his eye said otherwise.

Jeonghan slowly eyes her, gaze trailing from her lips, down her neck, across her chest, lingering on the curves of her body. Luna feels the heat of his stare, feels her skin tingle, feels her nipples peak beneath her shirt. His fingers trail along her side, brushing just beneath her breast before moving lower to her hips.

He then leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the base of her throat before he pulls back slightly. His hands move to the hem of her shirt, and he begins to lift it, slowly, inch by inch. Luna raises her arms, allowing him to pull it off, her breath hitching as cool air meets her skin. She's suddenly aware of how little she's wearing— just her bra and jeans, and now her shirt is gone. She feels exposed, vulnerable, and it sends a thrill down her spine.

His eyes darken as he takes her in, hands now moving to the button of her jeans. He unbuttons them, slowly, one by one, his knuckles brushing against her skin, sending shivers down her body. She watches him, breath catching in her throat as he slides the zipper down, revealing the lace of her underwear.

"Hannie," she murmurs, a warning, a plea.

He looks up, those dark eyes locking with hers, and smirks. "What, baby?" he asks, voice low, hands now hooking into the waistband of her jeans. "You want me to stop?"

Luna bites her lip, eyes wide, and shakes her head slightly. "No– don’t stop," she admits, voice soft.

Jeonghan's fingers hook into the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. The cool air hits her bare skin, making her shiver. She steps out of her jeans and underwear, now standing before him in nothing but her bra. Jeonghan's gaze roams over her body, lingering on the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the softness of her stomach. His eyes darken with desire, and he reaches out, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

Jeonghan kneels in front of her, his hands resting on her thighs. He looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, and she can see the love and longing in their depths. He starts to unbutton his uniform, but Luna stops him, placing her hands over his.

"Keep it on," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "Please."

Jeonghan smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You really want to keep me in uniform, huh?"

Luna nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah.”

Jeonghan chuckles, his hands moving to her legs. He starts to caress them, his thumbs tracing slow circles on her skin. He presses soft kisses to her thighs, moving higher and higher until he reaches the apex of her legs.

Luna's breath hitches, her hands gripping his shoulders as he lifts one of her legs up onto his shoulder. She can feel the heat of his breath against her most intimate place, and she shivers in anticipation.

He looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, and she nods slightly, giving him permission. He leans in, his tongue flicking out to taste her, and she gasps, her head falling back against the door. He starts slowly, his tongue tracing gentle circles around her clit, teasing her, driving her wild.

She can feel the tension building inside her, her body aching for release. He knows exactly what he's doing, his tongue moving in rhythm with her breath, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her steady. Luna can feel the pleasure building, her body tensing, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Ha– Han," she moans, her hands gripping his hair tighter, pulling him closer. "Oh fuck, Hannie, don't stop."

Jeonghan hums against her, the vibration sending shivers down her spine. His tongue flicks faster, his fingers digging into her thighs as he holds her in place. Luna can feel the edge of her orgasm, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. She's close, so close, and she doesn't want it to end.

But then, suddenly, he pulls back. Luna's eyes fly open, her body still trembling from the near release. "What– Han," she whines, her voice desperate. "What are you doing?"

Jeonghan looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, a wicked grin playing on his lips. "Patience, Nana-ya," he says, his voice low and husky.

Luna's eyes widen, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been patient."

Jeonghan stands up, his hands moving to her waist. He pulls her closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "I mean, I know you have, my love," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “And it will feel even better when you wait a little more.”

Luna's breath hitches, her body already responding to his words. She can feel the heat between her legs, the wetness building. She looks up at him, her eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But all she sees is desire, pure and unadulterated.

"I– I want that," she whispers, her voice filled with need. "Want to feel good."

“And you will, pretty girl,” He smiles, his hands moving to her back to unhook her bra.

Luna gasps, her body arching into his as he slides the straps down her arms. He tosses it aside, his eyes never leaving hers. She can feel the cool air against her breasts, her nipples hardening in response. He leans in, capturing one in his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, teasing it to a peak.

“Fuck,” she moans, her hands gripping his hair, holding him close. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, the same love. She can feel the pleasure building, her body aching for more.

But then, suddenly, he spins her around to face the door. She lets out a surprised gasp, her hands pressing against the cool wood. She can feel his hands on her ass, caressing it, squeezing it. She arches into his touch, her breath coming in short gasps. And then, without warning, he spanks her. Hard.

“Jeo– ah!”

He spanks her again, the sound echoing off the walls, and she gasps, her body jolting forward. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as he presses his body against hers. She can feel his hardness, pressing against her, and she pushes back, grinding against him. He groans, his hands moving to her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers. She moans, her head falling back against his shoulder.

Jeonghan leans in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You like that, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You like it when I spank you?"

Luna nods, her breath coming in short gasps. "Mhm," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I love it."

“Mhm, you love it?” Jeonghan smirks as he cooed, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her back against him. He grinds against her, his hardness pressing against her ass.

She can feel the heat of his body, the rough texture of his uniform against her back. His hands move to her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers, making her gasp. He leans in, his lips brushing against her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She shivers, her body arching into his touch. "Hannie," she moans, her voice filled with need. "Please."

He hums against her skin, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her back against him. "Please what, Nana-ya?" he asks, his voice low and husky. "What do you want?"

Luna pushes back against him, grinding against his hardness. "You," she whispers, her voice filled with desperation. "I want you."

Jeonghan's voice was low, a growl in her ear as he pressed against her, his hands gripping her hips. "Stay just like that, Jiyeonie. Don't move." She felt his breath on her neck, hot and ragged, as he reached over to his bag on the floor. He pulled out his beret, the one she'd always teased him about, and placed it gently on her head.

"There," he murmured, his voice softening for a moment before it turned rough again. "Now, you look like my little soldier."

Luna felt a shiver run down her spine, not just from the cool fabric of the beret, but from the way he was talking to her. It was different, dirtier, and it sent a thrill through her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short gasps.

Jeonghan's hands were on her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her back against him. She could feel his hardness pressing against her ass, and she pushed back, grinding against him. He groaned, his hands moving to her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers. She moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder.

And then, without warning, he pulled her hair, her head tilting back, exposing her neck. She gasped, her body arching into his touch. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. She shivered, her body aching for more.

"Jeongie," she whined, her voice filled with need.

He hummed against her skin, his hands moving to her waist, pulling her back against him. “Feel good?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“Yeah–“ Luna's eyes closed tightly as she felt his breath on her ear, his hot tongue tracing a line down her neck. She arched her back, pressing her ass firmly against his hard cock, feeling it throb through the fabric of his uniform. "Fuck– I want you," she managed to gasp out. "I want you so fucking bad, Jeongie."

Jeonghan growled, a low, primal sound that sent a shiver down Luna's spine. He tightened his grip on her waist, his fingers digging into her flesh as he ground against her. "You little impatient bunny," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

One hand slid down to the juncture of her thighs, fingers brushing against her wetness. She gasped, her hips bucking forward, desperate for more contact. He chuckled, a dark, throaty sound that made her squirm. "You're so fucking wet, Jiyeonie. You want this cock, don't you?"

She nodded eagerly, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, baby. I want it. I want it so bad."

He groaned, his fingers slipping inside her, curling up to hit that spot that made her see stars.

"You're fucking drenched, baby," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "You're so ready for me, aren't you?"

“Since I saw you in that fucking uniform,” Luna nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She couldn't form words, couldn't think beyond the sensation of his fingers inside her, of his cock pressing against her ass. "Jeonghannie, please," she managed to whisper, her voice tight with need.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that made her knees weak. "Please what? Tell me what you want," Jeonghan rasped in her ear, his fingers moving inside her, curling and twisting just the way she liked.

She could feel the heat radiating off him, the rough texture of his uniform against her back. She was so wet, so ready, her body aching for more.

"I want your cock," she managed to gasp out, her voice tight with need. "I want you to fuck me, Hannie. Please, please fuck me."

“Always beg so pretty for me,” He groaned, a deep, primal sound that seemed to vibrate through her entire body.

Luna felt his hand leave her waist and then, suddenly, his belt was unbuckled, his zipper being pulled down— leaving his uniform on just like he asked her. She gasped as she felt the head of his cock press against her, hot and hard, and she pushed back against him, wanting more. "You want this, baby?" he growled, his voice thick with desire. "You want me to fill you up?"

Luna nodded eagerly, her breath coming in short gasps, “God, yes. I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me."

Jeonghan chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down her spine.

"So fucking greedy, aren't you, bunny?" he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and desire. "But I've got what you need, baby. I've got what you've been craving."

With one hand, he gripped her hip firmly, holding her in place as he lined himself up with her entrance. Luna could feel the head of his cock, hot and hard, pressing against her, and she pushed back against him, desperate for more.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Jeonghan groaned, his voice ragged as he slowly began to push inside her.

Luna gasped, her fingers curling into fists against the door as she tried to adjust to the sensation of him filling her. He was big, bigger than she remembered, and it took all her willpower not to cry out at the slight discomfort. But she didn't want him to stop, didn't want him to pull out. She wanted this, wanted him, and she would take whatever he gave her.

"Relax, baby," Jeonghan murmured, his voice soothing despite the rough edge of lust. "Just breathe for me.”

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He growled as he slowly inched inside her.

Luna whimpered, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the door for support. "More," she begged, her voice ragged and desperate. "I need more, baby."

He complied, pushing deeper, his hips flexing as he filled her inch by inch. Luna could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock as he stretched her. It burned, but it was a good burn, one that made her crave more.

“Hannie– fuck– m’feels so good!” She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, her body desperate for him.

She could feel him stretching her, filling her, and it was everything she'd craved for so long. He gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh as he began to move faster, harder.

The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, a primal, carnal sound that sent shivers down Luna's spine.

"Fuck, you're so tight, baby," Jeonghan groaned, his voice ragged and desperate. "You feel so fucking good around me.”

“Hghh–” Luna couldn't respond, couldn't form words.

All she could do was whimper and moan, her body adjusting to his size, her legs trembling as he thrust deeper and deeper into her. He gripped her hips so tightly she could feel his fingers digging into her flesh, and she loved it. She loved the way it felt like he was claiming her, marking her as his own.

"That's it, baby," Jeonghan growled, his voice thick with desire. "Take me. Take all of me."

Luna pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

The sound of their skin slapping together filled the room, a primal, carnal sound that made her feel both wild and possessed. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her, and it was overwhelming in the best way possible.

Jeonghan's hips moved faster and harder, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Fuck, pretty girl," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight."

Luna could feel the pleasure building, coiling low in her belly like a spring ready to snap. She was close, so close, and she never wanted it to end.

But Jeonghan seemed to sense her impending climax, and he pulled back slightly, his fingers digging into her hips as he slowed his thrusts.

“No,” Luna protested, trying to push back against him, begging for more. “Don’t stop, Han. Don’t fucking stop.”

Jeonghan chuckled, a dark, dirty sound that made Luna’s stomach flip. “Not gonna stop, baby,” he promised. “But I’m gonna make sure you feel every fucking inch of me.”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against Luna’s back, his fingers slipping up to tangle in her hair.

She gasped as he pulled her head back, exposing her neck. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. he murmured, his voice low and rough. "You like it when I control you?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with need.

Jeonghan chuckled, a dark, dirty sound that sent shivers down her spine. “I do too,” he murmured, his fingers tightening in her hair as he pulled her head back even further. "Now, tell me what you want."

His voice was low, a growl in her ear as he held her head back, his fingers tangled in her hair. Luna could feel the heat of his breath on her neck, the hardness of his cock still buried deep inside her.

"I want you to make me cum," she gasped, her voice tight with need. "I want you to fuck me until I can't take it anymore."

Jeonghan groaned, his hips jerking forward, driving his cock deeper inside her. "Fuck, Jiyeon-ah," he muttered, his voice ragged. "You're so fucking dirty. I love it."

He released her hair, his hands moving to her hips, gripping them tightly as he began to move faster, harder. Luna could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her, and it was exactly what she needed. She pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, her body desperate for release.

"Hannie," she gasped, her voice filled with need. "Just like that."

He groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrust harder, faster. "You're mine, Jiyeon," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Say it. Say you're mine."

Luna's breath hitched, her body trembling as she felt the pleasure building. "I'm yours," she gasped, her voice barely audible. "I'm yours, baby."

And then, suddenly, he pulled out of her. Luna gasped, her body aching at the loss of him. But before she could protest, he spun her around, her back pressing against the cool wood of the door. He lifted one of her legs, wrapping it around his waist, and entered her again, his cock filling her completely. Luna wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he began to move, his hips thrusting against hers.

Her fingers dug into his back, nails scraping against the fabric of his uniform, leaving small, crescent-shaped marks. She could feel the muscles in his back tense and relax with each thrust, the heat of his body pressing against hers. "Ah! Han," she moaned, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, don't stop."

Jeonghan's breath came in short, ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against hers. "Never," he growled, his voice thick with lust. "I'm not going to stop until you cum around me.”

Luna's heart pounded in her chest, her body on fire with desire. She could feel the pleasure building, coiling low in her belly like a spring ready to snap. She pushed against him, meeting his thrusts, her body desperate for more. "Han," she gasped, her voice tight with need.

He groaned, his hips jerking forward, driving his cock deeper inside her. "You're doing so good, bunny," he muttered, his voice ragged. "I can't get enough of you."

Jeonghan lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist before carrying her to the couch, making Luna squeal as she held onto his beret on her head.

He sat down, pulling her on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. She gasped, feeling him slide deeper inside her, and he groaned, his hands gripping her ass. "Fuck– you feel so good like this."

Luna's breath hitched as she adjusted to the new position, her fingers digging into his shoulders. She could feel every inch of him, and she loved the way it made her feel, powerful and desired. She began to move, her hips rolling against his, and he groaned, his fingers tightening on her ass.

"Fuck, Luna," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "You feel so fucking good. I could fuck you all day."

“F’me– all… d-day,” Luna whined, her eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

“They… they keep asking me about you. Guys in my division— asking about you. Calling you pretty and such in front of me.” His voice was low, a growl in her ear as he held her head back, his fingers tangled in her hair.

Luna stiffened, breath catching. The possessive edge in his voice wrapped around her tight and protective. She was about to respond when suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on her neck. He had bitten her, hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, her body tensing for a moment before melting into him again, the pain morphing into pleasure.

He tilted her chin up with one strong finger, gaze burning. “So tell me,” he growled softly, pressing his forehead to hers, lips brushing her ear with every word. “Who do you belong to?”

Luna swallowed hard, pulse hammering in her throat. Her eyes glistened as she whispered with fierce certainty, “I belong to you… and only you.”

Jeonghan’s dark eyes flickered with satisfaction. He captured her lips again, cutting her off with a kiss that was equal parts claim and devotion. His arms lifted her slightly, pressing her body flush against his with calculated intensity.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, nose brushing hers. His eyes never left hers. “Good,” he murmured, voice low and certain. “Because no one gets you… nobody owns you. Only me.”

"I'm yours, Jeongie," she whispered, her voice filled with desire. "I'm yours, and you're mine." She turned her head slightly, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood on his lips.

He groaned, his hands moving to her ass, gripping her tightly as he thrust upwards, meeting her grind with a force that made her gasp. "Fuck, angel face," he growled against her lips, his voice thick with lust. "I can't get enough of you."

“Feels so good,” She moaned, her hips moving faster, her body desperate for release.

“I know, baby,” Jeonghan's eyes darkened, his grip on her ass tightening as he pulled her down harder onto his cock. "I'm not stopping, baby," he murmured, his voice low and rough. He leaned back, his hands moving to her breasts, pinching her nipples between his fingers. She gasped, her back arching as pleasure shot through her.

She held onto the beret with one hand, the other gripping his shoulder for support. Jeonghan leaned back, his arms lifted at the sides of the couch, watching her with a smirk as fully bare Luna rode him, still fully in his uniform. "You look so fucking hot like this," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Ride me, Nana-ya. Take what you need."

Luna's breath came in short gasps, her body moving on instinct, chasing the pleasure that was building inside her. She could feel every inch of him, stretching her, filling her, and it was exactly what she needed.

"Fuck– I'm so close." She ground against him, her hips moving in a rhythm that matched his thrusts, her body desperate for release.

But Jeonghan wasn't listening. He was too busy chuckling, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched her with amusement. "Yeah? You close, baby?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You're like a little sex kitten, aren't you? All you need is a little attention, and you're purring like a kitten in heat."

“M-More– Han, faster,” Luna begged, her voice ragged and desperate. She needed release, needed him to fill her up and make her his.

Jeonghan growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he lifted her up and slammed her down onto his cock, making her cry out. "Like this, baby?" he asked, his voice a low, dirty rumble. "You want it faster?"

"Yes," Luna gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "Yes, please.” She whimpered, her voice filled with desperation. She was so close, her body aching for release, and she needed him to take the lead.

As if reading her mind, Jeonghan flipped her onto her back, lifting her effortlessly. He positioned himself between her legs, his eyes locked onto hers as he started to plow into her, his hips moving in a steady, powerful rhythm.

Luna gasped, her body arching to meet his, her fingers digging into his back as she held on for dear life while he hummed, his voice thick with lust.

"You’re made for me," he muttered, his voice ragged as he thrust deeper inside her.

Luna moaned, her back arching as she met his thrusts, her body on fire with desire.

"You're so fucking greedy, aren't you, baby?" Jeonghan chuckled at her expression as he pounded her, “But I love it. I love the way you completely fall for me."

Luna whimpered, her fingers digging into his back as he continued to move inside her, his hips thrusting against hers with a force that made her gasp. "Han, please– I’m close,” she begged, her voice filled with desperation.

He growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he thrust harder, faster. "Come for me. Come all over my cock."

Luna's body tensed, her breath coming in short gasps as the pleasure built inside her. She could feel it, the coiling spring ready to snap, and she pushed against him, her body desperate for release.

"Fuck!" she cried out, her voice filled with ecstasy as the orgasm washed over her, her body convulsing as she came hard and fast. He groaned, his hips jerking forward as he followed her over the edge, filling her with his hot release.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together, their breaths ragged and uneven. Luna could feel his heart pounding against her chest, his cock still twitching inside her.

Their bodies still hummed with aftershocks, like the air hadn’t quite settled yet. His fingers traced lazy shapes along the curve of her thigh while hers rested flat over his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat underneath.

“Can’t believe you really have a uniform kink. You went feral over my uniform, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan murmured into her hair, lips curling into a knowing grin as he broke the silence.

Luna groaned into his neck. “Please shut up.”

“Can’t. Gotta process this.” His voice dropped into that silky, teasing cadence she knew too well. “We walk through the door, barely even there, and suddenly you’re climbing me like a tree.”

She slapped his chest, laughing. “You literally pushed me against the door.”

“Under your spell, apparently,” he said, completely unrepentant.

She huffed a laugh, then snuggled deeper into his side. “I didn’t think it’d get to me like that.”

“The uniform?” he asked, eyes gleaming as he looked down at her. “Or me in it?”

“Big fucking ego.”

“Baby,” he purred. “You moaned when I adjusted my beret in the car.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

She pulled the blanket that was on the couch up slightly to hide the embarrassed smile threatening her face. “Shut up, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“You should see your face,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her jaw. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re always so put-together. Bossy. Sharp-tongued. But apparently all it takes is a little camo and a rank pin.”

She tilted her head up to meet his eyes, mischief glinting. “Oh, so now you’re acting like you’re not the one who made me wear your beret?”

He chuckled, slow and smug. “I was giving you what you wanted.”

“I hate how much you know me.”

“I love how much I know you,” he said without missing a beat, the tone behind his teasing softening into something deeper. He turned to face her more fully, shifting her leg slightly so she was resting entirely in his arms. “You were beautiful today.”

Luna blinked, caught off guard. “Jeonghan…”

“You showed up for me,” he said, more serious now, voice husky but earnest. “You rearranged everything just to be there. You flew across the damn continent. That meant more than you think.”

She tucked her head under his chin again, smiling quietly. “You’d have done the same for me.”

“I have done the same for you.”

“And you’ll do it again.”

“Every time.”

A soft silence stretched between them, filled only by the occasional pass of his hand through her hair or over her arm, the quiet beat of their breathing in sync.

Then he broke it again. “Still thinking about the uniform?”

She laughed, groaning. “Oh my God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

He smirked. “You looked like you were gonna unbutton it with your teeth.”

“I might still.”

Jeonghan leaned closer, brushing his nose against her cheek, whispering like a devil at her shoulder. “Next time, I’ll wear it when my hair has grown longer… till my neck. Your favorite.”

Her breath hitched, and she rolled her eyes—affectionately. “You’re evil.”

“I’m irresistible.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You’re obsessed.”

She sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

He kissed her temple, letting his lips linger there. “You love me.”

“I really, really do.”

Jeonghan smiled then— soft and smug and lovesick all at once.

And in that moment, Luna realized, again, what she always did after the dust settled and the haze lifted— Jeonghan was the only one who ever got her like this. Who could unravel her just by being himself, effortlessly.

She was usually composed, sharp, untouchable, all quick wit and poise… but Jeonghan made her giggle and blush and squirm. He made her lose her balance and love every second of it.

Just like she was the only one who could make him drop the act and become something louder, bossier, more unhinged in his affection— biting and bratty and completely besotted. They met each other in the middle, exactly where chaos kissed control and made something sweeter than either on their own.

And Jeonghan… well.

He was the kind of man you didn’t just crave, you craved again. Over and over.

Smooth. Addictive. Warm to the center with a hidden burn if you tasted too long.

Luna sighed, eyes fluttering closed as she nestled closer into his chest.

Of course he was dangerous.

That’s what happens when you fall in love with someone who knows exactly how to melt you— slowly, sweetly, until you’re nothing but his favorite flavor.

After all, Yoon Jeonghan is made of sugar, sin, and smirks.

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Happy Birthday, Mrs. Reigns | R.R. Smut

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“You married me that night and then let him keep the wedding on the calendar.” - R

A/N: Wanted to post a birthday-themed post ❤️ Hope you enjoy it!!

Summary: It’s Asha’s first birthday as Mrs. Reigns, and nothing about it feels simple. Between complicated feelings, outside opinions, and everything left unsaid, she’s not sure how to celebrate herself—let alone this new chapter. But Roman? He always shows up when it matters most. And tonight, he has no intention of letting her forget exactly who she is… or who she belongs to.

Content Warning: This one-shot contains explicit sexual content (18+), emotionally vulnerable moments, mentions of past infidelity and relationship conflict, language, and themes of emotional tension and healing. Reader discretion is advised.

Word Count: ~5.5k

The first thing Asha noticed was the silence.

Not the soft, morning kind—the one that greeted you with peace and sunbeams. No, this one was loud in its stillness. Empty. Familiar. The kind of silence that reminded you no one was coming.

Her phone screen lit up on the nightstand.

Nothing.

No missed calls. No texts. No “Happy birthday, baby” with a dozen heart emojis like he used to send when they first got engaged.

Just a silent lock screen. A picture of her and Zaire—taken at All-Star weekend. His hand on her waist, his smile perfect, his love polished.

She turned the phone over. Face-down.

Asha laid there for a while, one arm bent over her forehead, staring at the ceiling. The air was too warm. Her throat was dry. Her stomach… hollow.

She hated that feeling—expectation and disappointment getting drunk together in her chest.

But she’d told herself Zaire was the safe choice. The predictable one. The kind of man who looked good on paper and never missed a press appearance—even if he forgot her birthday. It was easier to stay than start over. Easier to pretend polished love was real love.

Her planner was still cracked open beside the bed, clinging to last week’s page.

Wedding Day – April 20th.

She crossed it out with the edge of her nail. Hard. Like that could scratch the whole thing out of her life.

Her phone buzzed again.

She grabbed it too fast—heart lurching—but it wasn’t Zaire.

ESPN.She didn’t bother opening it. Just swiped it away.

Then opened Instagram. Zaire’s story was ten minutes old.

A video. Him walking up the stairs to a plane, hoodie on, headphones over his ears. The caption:

✈️ Roadwork. See y’all tonight.

No tag. No mention. No "Happy birthday to my fiancée."

She closed the app. Locked her phone.

Her throat burned. Not from tears. From holding them in.

She used to love birthdays.

Counted down to them with giddy pride. Practiced her birthday wish like it could fix things. Like it could make people stay.

Birthdays were supposed to feel like magic. Like people waking up with you on their mind. Like candles and laughter and “I couldn’t wait to celebrate you.”

But somewhere between then and now, birthdays stopped being magic.

They just became reminders. Of who shows up. And who doesn’t.

Asha moved through the kitchen like she was underwater. Her birthday cupcakes still sat in a plastic container on the counter—three red velvet, untouched. She’d bought them herself. Stuck her own name on the label just so the cashier wouldn’t ask.

The lavender candle she meant to light was still sealed. The wine unopened.

She set both down gently. Her hand hovered over the lighter, but she didn’t reach for it.

He doesn’t even know today matters.

Asha didn’t realize she was whispering until the words caught in her throat.

Maybe he does know. And that’s worse.

The knock at the door startled her.

She froze.

Nobody just showed up.

She crossed to the door barefoot, tension in every step. One peek through the peephole—

A delivery man. Holding something round and black. Elegant.

She opened the door slowly.

“Delivery for Asha Langston,” he said with a polite nod. “Happy birthday.”

“…Thanks,” she murmured, stepping forward.

The box was heavy. She shut the door with her hip and carried it to the kitchen island.

It looked expensive. Velvet and matte. Her hands hovered over the lid for a second too long.

Then she lifted it.

Dozens of deep red roses. Arranged in a spiral, rich and velvety, full of perfume and color and care.

Tucked into the center was a small black velvet box.

She didn’t move at first.

Then, slowly, she reached for it.

Inside was a delicate gold necklace, warm-toned and fine, the kind of subtle luxury that whispered. One small “R” charm curled next to a soft glint of blue-green—her birthstone. The color of ocean glass.

Her breath caught.

He remembered.

She hadn’t even remembered to wear jewelry today.

And he—

She opened the folded card pressed beneath the flowers.

To my favorite accident.Happy Birthday, Asha.You’re unforgettable.— R

Her fingers trembled.

Not from surprise. From the way it felt to be seen.

To be remembered like this. On purpose.

Zaire once told her birthstones were for horoscope girls. Said he didn’t believe in sentimental jewelry.

“Gold’s gold,” he’d said, when she told him once—quietly—that she loved pieces that felt personal.

She’d never brought it up again.

Now here she was. Holding something that felt like it had been picked just for her. Not for a crowd. Not for a caption. Just… her.

And it hurt.

Because it wasn’t Zaire who gave it to her.

Asha sank onto the couch, necklace in her palm, and stared at the flowers like they might disappear.

A memory flickered. Vegas. The hotel room. Roman’s voice in the dark:

“I notice everything about you.”

Back then, she thought it was just something men said when the lights were off. But now? With this necklace in her hand? She wasn’t so sure.

Her thumb brushed the “R” charm again.

She didn’t know what she felt. Not exactly. But it was sharp. And soft. And terrifying.

Her phone buzzed again on the counter.

This time, the name glowed across the screen:

ZURI 💅🏾 LOUD ASS.

Asha exhaled once.

Then reached for it.

“Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. I know that cupcake ain’t talking back to you.”

Asha sniffed quietly, pulling her sleeve over her hand. “I’m fine.”

“Mmhm. Get up. Café Mae. Twenty minutes. You need food, fresh air, and me. In that order.”

Click.

Asha stared at the screen for a second longer. Let herself breathe.

Then the phone buzzed again — same caller.

She picked up without saying anything.

Zuri didn’t miss a beat.

“Another thing—happy birthday, hoe. Love ya. Bye.”

Click.

This time, Asha smiled.

For real.

The café’s front windows breathed soft light onto the sidewalk. Asha leaned against the brick wall just outside the entrance, her phone still warm in her hand from Zuri’s call.

Zuri didn’t give her time to spiral. She never did.

The second Asha stepped inside, she spotted her best friend in the far booth — hair up in a clean, high puff, earrings big and bold, gold rings stacked like she’d been ready for war since sunrise. Zuri didn’t do halfway. And she didn’t pretend either.

Her eyes locked on Asha the moment she walked in, and her expression shifted. Not to pity — Zuri didn’t pity people — but to something gentler. Focused.

“You look like you been listening to Summer Walker and ignoring your vitamins,” she said, sliding a glass of pineapple juice across the table.

Asha let out a short breath that might’ve been a laugh. She sat down, adjusting the sleeves of her hoodie. No makeup. No jewelry—except the one thing she hadn’t been able to take off.

Zuri didn’t notice it at first. She was too busy waving the waitress over and talking about how she was gonna need extra syrup for her pancakes or else she’d flip the damn table. But eventually, as Asha reached for the honey for her tea, Zuri blinked. Then squinted. Then leaned in.

“Wait. What’s that on your neck?”

Asha froze. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. That’s a gold chain. With an R. Is that your birthstone? Girl—”

“It was a gift.”

“From who? Wait—” Zuri stared at her. And then her voice dropped, quieter now. Sincere. “Did Zaire send that?”

Asha looked away. “No.”

Zuri blinked. Once. Twice. “So he didn’t even send you a text?”

“No call. No post. Just his assistant wishing me a happy birthday in our group chat.”

Zuri sat back, the humor gone now. Her brows were furrowed, her voice low. “And the man who married you drunk in Vegas sent you a necklace and remembered your birthstone?”

Asha nodded once. She didn’t have it in her to explain the roses. The note. The silence he gave her afterward so she wouldn’t feel cornered.

Zuri exhaled and leaned forward again. “So cancel the wedding.”

Asha blinked.

Zuri didn’t flinch. “You keep trying to act like you owe that man your life because he was safe. But what has safe actually done for you, Asha?”

Silence lingered between them. A waitress dropped off their plates and refilled the juice, but neither of them spoke until the clinking faded.

Then Asha finally said it. “Can you cancel the venue?”

Zuri paused, her face softening. “You serious?”

“I just… I can’t see it on my calendar anymore.”

Zuri nodded. Not dramatic. Not smug. Just Zuri. “Say less.”

Asha’s breath escaped her chest like a door had finally opened. She stared down at her plate. The syrup pooled into the corner like it didn’t want to touch anything.

��You want me to also cancel the part where you keep pretending he’s a good man?”

Asha smiled without lifting her head. “Start with the venue.”

They parted just outside the café. Zuri pulled her into a hug, tight and warm and brimming with everything Asha didn’t say out loud.

“Happy birthday, Ash. Go where the love is.”

Asha nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.

She made it halfway down the block before her phone buzzed again.

ROMAN Happy birthday, Asha. I didn’t want to crowd your day… just wanted you to know you deserve to feel held, even when nobody’s watching. Hope today gave you at least a little bit of that. And if not… you know where I’m at.

She didn’t text back. But she read it twice.

And when she slipped the phone back into her coat pocket, her fingers brushed the gold “R” charm resting above her heart.

She was still smiling.

The sun had long dipped beneath the skyline by the time Asha stepped back into her apartment. The air felt heavier than usual—not stifling, but thick with the kind of stillness that came after too many thoughts had been left unspoken.

Warm light glowed from the kitchen, where her favorite candle sat on a warmer, quietly releasing the scent of vanilla and spice into the air. She didn’t light it today. Didn’t need open flame. Just wanted something soft. Something steady.

She slipped off her shoes and coat, toes curling into the floor as she poured herself a glass of wine. The stem felt cool in her hand, the weight familiar. Her gaze wandered—not on purpose—and landed on the bouquet still sitting on the dining table.

A vase of bold red roses sat near the window, fresh and dramatic. Tall black marble. Gold lettering along the base. Expensive without being loud. Thoughtful without needing to explain itself. The kind of arrangement that didn’t whisper affection—it declared it. Like Roman had known exactly what message he wanted to send without ever signing his name.

She hadn’t thrown them out.

She hadn’t even moved them.

She’d rinsed the vase. Refilled it with water. And sat them at the center of her apartment like some unspoken centerpiece to a day she didn’t know how to feel about.

The card was still beside it.

Unopened.

She took another sip of wine just as the knock came—three soft taps, deliberate and steady.

Her spine straightened. She set the glass down.

Checked the peephole.

Roman.

Black hoodie. Gray sweats. One hand in his pocket. The other carrying a matte black takeout bag with a gold emblem stamped on the side—Torenzo’s. The place she used to joke about being overhyped. Until he took her there once and she accidentally moaned over the risotto.

She opened the door slowly.

He didn’t speak.

His eyes flicked up and down, catching her at the edge of tiredness and tension, and then landing right where her collar dipped. Where the delicate gold chain glinted under the low kitchen light. Where the tiny “R” charm lay tucked beside her birthstone, warm against her skin.

“You wore it,” he said, voice low and unreadable.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded, her hand rising almost unconsciously to touch the charm. Her thumb brushed across the letter before she realized she was doing it.

Roman’s jaw flexed. He shifted slightly, the takeout bag rustling in his hand.

“Didn’t know if you’d eaten. Figured you deserved better than cold cupcakes.”

Asha blinked, something tightening in her throat. Zaire would’ve sent a text. Maybe.Roman showed up.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Not until her eyes caught the soft look on his face—restrained, but present.

She stepped aside.

He walked in—brushing past the bouquet without ever glancing at it—and set the food gently on the kitchen counter. She watched him move like he’d done it a hundred times before.

She opened her mouth, hesitated. “You didn’t have to…”

“Yeah, I did.” He paused. His voice dropped, rough at the edges. “Didn’t want you going to sleep thinking nobody showed up.”

A few seconds passed—too long, too quiet.

Then the door clicked shut behind them.

One Week Ago

The room looked like wealth. Gold-rimmed glasses, roses that had never seen a grocery store, a jazz trio tucked in the corner playing notes that didn’t dare interrupt the silence. The lighting was warm and low—not cozy, but curated. Asha sat at a table that felt more like a stage.

Zaire was beside her in a tailored dove-grey suit, quiet and unreadable, his phone face-down next to his water glass. Asha had matched the energy—sleek black dress, heels high enough to hurt, posture perfect. But none of it made the food taste better. None of it softened the knot in her stomach.

His mother had been speaking for ten minutes without a pause. The kind of woman who wielded compliments like warning shots.

“You’ve always been such a… challenge, Asha.” She said it sweetly, like a joke meant to land softer. It didn’t. “But that’s what makes things exciting, right? Keeps Zaire sharp.”

Asha blinked slowly. “Sharp must be exhausted.”

Zaire didn’t laugh. Didn’t correct his mother either. He just reached for his wine and sipped like he hadn’t heard a thing.

His father leaned back. “We’ve spoken to the planners.” Asha’s stomach tightened.

“Everything’s been pushed back. Venue. Catering. PR. It’s handled.”

He didn’t even ask. Just expected her to be thankful for the cleanup crew.

“You should be grateful,” he added, eyes locking on hers.And that was it. The line she couldn’t unhear.He looked straight at Asha. “You should be grateful.”

Her fingers tensed beneath the tablecloth.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“And yet we did. Because we clean up our son’s messes. Even when they’re not entirely his.” “You’re still planning to marry into this family, Asha. Consider what that requires.”

She caught her reflection in the polished silverware—expression still poised, chin lifted. Her silence was a skill now. But her tongue ached from biting it.

Zaire said nothing.

His mother folded her hands, eyes warm and cruel. “And hopefully, this wrestler situation doesn’t spiral. The announcement already embarrassed a few partners. But we’ll move forward.”

Asha tilted her head slightly. “Excuse me?”

His father didn’t pause. “Roman Reigns is a performer. Men like him thrive off chaos. They don’t think about how it reflects on women like you. You’re caught in the smoke of his spectacle. That’s why we stepped in.”

A slow, simmering beat passed.

Then Asha said, quiet but precise: “One of those men happens to be my brother.”

The jazz trio didn’t stop playing—but the tension in the room cut through every note.

His mother blinked. His father’s jaw moved but produced nothing. Even Zaire shifted, but only to adjust the cuff of his jacket. He didn’t say a word.

Asha folded her napkin neatly and placed it beside her plate. “So if we’re handing out gratitude, maybe offer a little back—for how long I’ve held my tongue.”She let the silence sit. “And for how much more I could say.”

Zaire looked down at his wine glass again.

Still. Nothing.

Something wilted in her chest.

“Excuse me,” she said softly, rising from the table.

She walked across the sleek marble, her heels echoing louder than any voice in the room. The bathroom door closed behind her with a soft click that felt like a slammed door.

Inside, she braced both hands on the sink.

Her breath came fast. Her chest tight. The mirror showed her the same face she’d walked in with—lipstick still sharp, lashes still full, bones still high. But her eyes...

Her eyes looked like someone who just watched a house she built burn to the ground—while the man inside refused to leave.

Her phone buzzed in her clutch.

1 Missed Call — Roman Reigns 10:14 PM

She stared at the name. Her thumb hovered.

But she didn’t press it. Didn’t call back.

She just held the phone tighter.

Present Day 

Now, that same hoodie from that night was clinging to Roman’s frame as he stood in her doorway.

Takeout bag in one hand. Silence in the other.

His eyes flicked to the necklace resting on her collarbone. “You wore it.”

She nodded. No words yet.

She felt that in her chest.

Her hand drifted unconsciously toward her ring—his ring—and then stopped.

“It was supposed to be a mistake,” she murmured.

Roman’s jaw flexed once. But his voice didn’t rise.

“You wore my name,” he said. “You’re still wearing it.”

Her throat tightened.

“That boy doesn’t have a chance,” he went on, casual but cutting. “I don’t give a fuck what that boy got to say. Or your lame-ass brother either.”

Her brow rose—but not in protest. It was the truth of it that made it hard to argue.

“He treats you like a PR move,” Roman said. “Like you’re something to bring out when he needs to look a certain way. Then he forgets you the second it’s not convenient.”

Asha looked away.

“I just wanted you to feel like someone showed up,” he finished, voice softening again. “Even if it was just me.”

She didn’t speak right away.

Roman held up the black-and-gold takeout bag. “Torenzo’s.”

Her brows shot up. “You remembered that?”

“You only said it once.” His voice was quiet but steady. “I listen when it’s you.”

Asha turned, lips parting slightly. There wasn’t a good response to that. She moved to the kitchen, pulling two plates from the cabinet. He helped unpack everything—grilled sea bass, truffle risotto, charred broccolini, still warm bread with rosemary butter.

Roman plated hers first. No rush, no instructions. Just care.

They sat down on the couch, not shoulder-to-shoulder but close enough that the tension hung between them like humidity—undeniable, heavy, waiting.

She sipped her wine. He didn’t drink.

They ate quietly at first.

Until Asha caught herself watching the way he cut his food, his shoulders relaxed for once. She swallowed hard and took a breath.

“This feels weird,” she admitted.

Roman didn’t look up. “Eating with your husband?”

Her gaze jerked to his face.

He finally met her eyes and gave the smallest smile. “Still feels real to me.”

She blinked—once, then twice—and looked down at her plate.

He reached for the bread, split it in half, and passed her a piece like it was second nature. Like they’d done it before. Like he’d always be that steady hand.

And suddenly she didn’t want to pretend she didn’t miss that kind of ease.

After dinner, Roman stood up and crossed to the counter again.

She watched him open the bakery box with practiced care, then pull out one cupcake—deep red velvet, piped high with cream cheese frosting, dusted in edible gold flakes.

From his hoodie pocket, he pulled a single candle.

He lit it using the small glass lighter sitting near her wax warmer.

Then he turned and brought the cupcake over slowly, holding it in both hands like something sacred.

“Make a wish,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “And don’t lie about what you really want.”

Asha stared at him. At the way the flame made his eyes softer. At the necklace he gave her resting against her collarbone.

She blew the candle out.

Roman didn’t move.

She reached for him first.

Her fingers curled into the front of his hoodie. She kissed him slow—no rush, no edge, just everything she hadn’t said out loud.

He tasted like dinner and quiet devotion.

When he pulled her in, his hand went to the small of her back and didn’t move. The other braced behind her on the couch—his grip tight, fingers flexing against the cushion like he was barely holding back. Asha gasped into his mouth

“You want something real?” He murmured. 

She nodded.

“Then stop pretending you don’t already have it.”

His mouth found hers again, hungrier this time. The kiss turned from soft to aching in a heartbeat.

The red velvet cupcake sat forgotten. The candle burned down in the kitchen behind them.

His knuckles brushed her bare thigh—slow, reverent. She was still in her lounge shorts and a soft, ribbed tank. Her body was tense beneath the quiet. But not pulling away.

His voice came low, almost inaudible. “Let me see you.”

Asha nodded.

Roman leaned in, mouth grazing hers with a kiss that lingered. Not rushed. Not rough. Just full. He kissed her again. And again. Until her shoulders dropped and her chest rose to meet his. Until her breath hitched and her hand found the curve of his jaw like muscle memory.

Then his hands moved—down her body, gripping the hem of her shorts. He tugged gently, knuckles grazing the underside of her thighs as he drew them down. Her panties came with them, damp from everything he’d already done to her with words alone.

He didn’t break eye contact.

Didn’t ask permission again.

Roman knelt between her legs like he belonged there.

Like she was some divine offering and he was starving on his knees.

His hands wrapped around her thighs, spreading her open with quiet reverence. His breath coasted over her center, warm and steady—teasing her without even touching. Asha felt the way her body pulsed for him, the way her thighs tried to close on instinct. Roman growled low in his throat and gripped tighter.

“Nah,” he murmured. “You been acting like this don’t belong to me.”

Then he licked her.

Long and slow.

One smooth stroke of his tongue up her slit, tasting every drop like he was collecting her on his tongue. Asha let out a trembling breath—but Roman wasn’t satisfied with that.

He flattened his tongue against her clit and held it there, not moving, just applying pressure, just waiting.

It worked.

Her hips lifted, lips parting on a sharp gasp. Roman smiled against her. “There she is…”

Then he got to work.

He licked her with slow, controlled precision, alternating between dragging his tongue up her folds and circling her clit. Every stroke was deliberate. Every motion a study in restraint. He was savoring her, not just going through the motions. Tongue firm. Mouth warm. Beard grazing her thighs just enough to make her squirm.

“Fuck, Roman—” she whispered.

He didn’t respond.

He sucked her clit into his mouth instead. Soft at first. Then harder. Then he let it pop free with a low moan that vibrated straight through her. Asha’s body jolted, fingers digging into the cushion beside her.

Roman didn’t stop.

He tilted her hips up slightly, locking one arm under her thigh while the other hand slid up to her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, slow circles that made her cry out. At the same time, his tongue flattened again, licking fast, building heat. He alternated between that and teasing flicks over her clit, stopping only to breathe her in, to taste her like he never wanted to forget.

Asha gripped the couch, her body teetering between pleasure and panic. It felt too good—too personal. Like he knew things about her she hadn’t told anyone. She didn’t know whether to run from it or fall apart.

“You shaking already?” he teased, voice hoarse. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Then he buried his face deeper.

Sucked harder.

His tongue moved with brutal control—slow when she needed fast, fast when she thought she couldn’t take more. He read her like a map, adjusting with every whimper, every arch, every time she whispered his name like a secret.

Her thighs were trembling now.

Her hands slipped down to his head, fingers threading through his thick curls, trying to ground herself. Roman grunted, and the vibration pushed her over the edge.

She came with a soft cry, her body locking up, thighs trying to close around his face. Roman didn’t let her. He held her open and kept licking—softer now, coaxing her through it, letting her ride the aftershocks as his lips ghosted over her sensitive clit.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth and beard were wet.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, then sucked the taste off his fingers, eyes locked on hers.

“Better than that sorry-ass birthday text you didn’t get, huh?”

Asha could barely breathe.

Roman stood, reached for the waistband of his sweats, and freed himself with one hand. He stroked slowly, watching her squirm, the “R” charm still resting right over her heartbeat.

“You ready?” he murmured, voice deep, thick with want.

“I’ve been ready,” she breathed.

He smirked.

And that’s when he moved in closer—cock thick, heavy, lined up just right.

Roman dragged the swollen head of his cock through her slick folds—slow, deliberate. Teasing her overstimulated clit just enough to make her gasp again.

“You feel that?” he murmured. “That’s what happens when I taste what’s mine.”

Her thighs parted wider.

And Roman didn’t wait anymore.

He slid in deep.

Asha’s back arched off the couch with a gasp so sharp it knocked the wind out of her. He filled her in one long stroke, thick and pulsing, her walls stretching to take every heavy inch. It wasn’t rushed—just inevitable. Like gravity. Like a promise made flesh.

Roman groaned low in his throat, his forehead dropping to hers.

“Fuck… You’re always so warm,” he whispered, his voice strained. “Always pullin’ me in like you need me.”

He rolled his hips, grinding into her, staying deep. Asha whimpered. Her hands flew to his back, nails raking across tan skin, needing more. Needing him.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you missed me.”

She whimpered again, breath stuttering. “I missed you.”

Roman’s lips ghosted across her cheek, his hips slowly pulling back.

Then he thrust again—hard.

Her moan was sharp, raw, swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her. His thrusts picked up, fast and deep, hitting every nerve ending like a punishment wrapped in a prayer.

“You married me,” he panted. “That night… you said I do.”

She didn’t answer—not out loud.

Her legs wrapped around his waist tighter, drawing him in closer, her body giving him her truth.

Roman’s mouth crashed into hers again, rougher this time. Messier. His fingers tangled in her curls as he fucked her through the silence. Sweat formed between them. Her necklace glinted between her breasts like it belonged there.

“You still wearing my name,” he groaned. “Still letting me inside you like this—like you know nobody else can touch you like this.”

Asha cried out, her hands gripping the back of the couch. Roman’s hand slammed against it too, fingers flexing against the cushion, holding himself back by a thread.

He pulled out slightly—just enough to make her whine—and then drove back in, rougher this time.

“That boy,” he said, voice nearly breaking with frustration, “he forgets your birthday. I remember how you breathe when you come.”

His hand slid between their bodies, thumb finding her clit. She jolted. Her thighs clenched. The rhythm faltered—then deepened. She shattered beneath him, crying out his name like it was the only language she knew.

“Say it,” he grunted, lips at her ear. “Say who you belong to.”

“You—fuck—you.”

“That’s right.”

He fucked her harder, the couch creaking under them, her legs locked around his waist now.

Roman’s face hovered just above hers—eyes wild, mouth open, breath harsh. And then he slowed.

Ground his hips deep.

Rolled them.

Until Asha was sobbing beneath him, clutching at his back like she didn’t know where her body ended and his began.

“I’m not letting go of you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “You hear me?”

She nodded, her voice a shaky whisper. “I hear you.”

And when she came again—body clenching, hips bucking, vision blurring—it was with his name falling from her lips like worship.

Roman followed seconds later, his moan guttural, drawn from the base of his spine as he buried himself inside her one last time.

Then silence.

Just the sound of their breathing, and the quiet weight of what couldn’t be unsaid anymore.

Roman didn’t move right away. Just brushed his thumb over her cheek, then down to the “R” charm resting on her chest.

His voice was quieter now. Still rough. Still sure.

“Happy fucking birthday, Mrs. Reigns.”

The only sounds left in the room were the rise and fall of their breathing and the occasional shift of fabric beneath their bodies. Sweat cooled on Asha’s skin as Roman eased back, chest rising with the weight of what they didn’t say.

He didn’t rush. He never did when it mattered.

Roman’s hand lingered at the dip of her waist, fingers flexing lightly like he didn’t want to lose contact yet. Like if he let go too fast, she might float away.

Without a word, he sat up, slipped off the couch, and disappeared down the hall. She heard the faucet run. When he returned, a damp towel hung from his hand, warm and fresh.

Kneeling beside her, Roman cleaned her with a reverence that didn’t need language. He moved slowly, wiping between her thighs like she was something precious, not something he’d just fucked into breathless silence.

When he looked up, his eyes weren’t clouded with lust anymore. Just clarity.

“You good?” he asked gently.

Asha nodded. But something in her eyes made him pause.

Roman leaned up, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I mean more than that.”

She didn’t answer, and he didn’t push. Instead, he stood, bare still, and crossed to grab the hoodie he’d tossed over the kitchen stool earlier. As he slipped it on, he pulled something small from the pocket—a black envelope, no larger than his palm.

He placed it down beside her. No speech. No drama.

She blinked at it. Then at him.

Roman offered her a look—steady, unreadable, heartbreakingly soft. Like he had one foot out the door, but his heart hadn’t followed.

Asha sat up, the blanket gathering at her waist. Her voice came quietly:

“…You don’t have to go.”

Roman stilled. Then turned.

She lifted her chin, eyes vulnerable but resolute. “Stay.”

There was a beat. A flicker of something fragile in his gaze.

Then, Roman nodded. Not rushed. Not smug. Just real.

He crossed back to her and slipped under the blanket without hesitation, like her body was the only place that made sense. She melted into him, head against his chest, heartbeat syncing with his. One of his arms tucked under her neck. The other wrapped around her waist, grounding her.

“You feel safe?” he asked, voice low in her hair.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

They lay like that for a long time. No noise but the city outside and the soft hum of comfort finally allowed.

A buzz broke the stillness.

Asha’s phone lit up across the table.

Zaire. Calling.

Roman looked at the screen. Then back at her. “You want me to grab it?”

“No,” she said.

He waited.

Then reached for it himself. Answering wasn’t on the table. He just pressed silence, flipped it screen-down, and returned to her.

“He doesn’t get to interrupt this,” Roman murmured. “Not after forgetting the day you were born.”

Asha didn’t reply, but her hand curled into the fabric of his hoodie. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, of this night, of everything she thought she didn’t deserve.

After a while, she reached for the envelope.

Inside was a single card. No gold trim. No extravagant message.

Just ink. Just him.

Let me know when you’re ready to be loved out loud. — R

Her throat tightened.

She looked down at her left hand—where the slim gold wedding band rested against her skin. Still there. Still hers. She’d never taken it off, not even when she should’ve.

The “R” charm on her necklace caught the glow, resting over her pulse like a quiet truth finally speaking.

Roman wasn’t asleep. She could feel his gaze on her even with her back turned.

“You’re not just a wish I made,” she whispered, thumb grazing the card. “You feel like the answer.”

He didn’t say anything.

But the way his arm pulled her closer, the way he kissed her shoulder, said more than words ever could.

She didn’t need to make another wish.

She was already wearing it.

Author’s Note: This one’s soft, a little messy, and full of unspoken feelings. Asha’s not sure how to celebrate herself—but Roman makes sure to always remind Asha what she deserves.

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this, make sure to check out the masterlist for more stories and join the taglist so you never miss an update. Your support means everything. 🤍

[hoperese]

Maybe This Time LN4

After a year apart, she runs into Lando at a party, where old feelings and regrets resurface. In the quiet moments outside, truths are confessed, and the weight of what was left unsaid finally comes between them.

word count: 743 pairing: lando norris x reader content: second chance trope warning: Angst, Exes meeting again, Emotional tension, Regret, Mild language, Alcohol use

rese notes: sorry for not updating... will soon upload the part 2 of this fic and multo!

It was awkward to see him again after a year had passed. Even she couldn’t wrap her head around how fast time had flown—as if it were just last night when they both decided to end the relationship. Maybe it was her struggle with the distance, or maybe it was the lack of reassurance Lando gave her. To her, it was a fifty-fifty situation. Part of her had grown tired of what Lando offered in return. She never wanted the expensive gifts he brought her; all she ever wanted was him—Lando Norris.

She found him at a party, surrounded by mutual friends. As she sipped her drink, her eyes wandered to the corner of the room where she spotted him, laughing and chatting with another guy. She cursed silently in her mind—he still looked the same. Those same eyes she fell in love with a little more each day. That same smile she used to wake up to, the one that would tell her he’d choose her every time—even if she turned into a potato. A silly, sweet memory from one of their nights together.

But now... seeing him like this—it felt different.

She stepped outside for some air, sipping her drink as she leaned against the wall and looked up at the sky. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice him quietly entering the same space—until she felt a light poke on her shoulder. Startled, she flinched and snapped, “Fucking—” as she turned around.

There he was.

“Why are you here?” she asked sharply, her voice colder than she intended. She hadn’t expected to see him out there.

“You were missing,” he replied simply.

The truth was, he’d been keeping an eye on her the entire night. He noticed when she slipped out, already knowing she would. She always did. Parties overwhelmed her.

She blinked at him, expression unreadable. “And?”

She took another sip of her drink as Lando leaned against the wall beside her.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said softly. “You always get overwhelmed at parties like these.”

And she hated that he still knew that about her—so specifically, so intimately.

There was an awkward silence between them, heavy and filled with unspoken things. She finally broke it, her voice soft but steady. “How’s life?” It sounded simple, casual—but she meant more than that. She wasn’t asking in a polite, passing way. She wanted something real, something personal. She wanted to know how he truly was.

Lando hesitated, glancing at her as if searching for the right words. “Fine… just the usual,” he said, though he could even hear how empty it sounded. The awkwardness lingered between them.

Then her next words hit him differently.

“I missed you… you know,” she said quietly, looking away, unable to meet his eyes. After a moment, she added, almost as if confessing, “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that, Lan. I really didn’t.” The guilt she’d carried since that night—the night they ended it—weighed on every word. “I just thought… it would be for the better, you know?”

Lando looked at her as if she’d just said something absurd. His heart ached. “You—you think it was better? Better for us to break up?” His voice cracked slightly, emotion slipping through. “Baby—” He stopped himself, realizing the pet name had fallen from his lips without thinking. He sighed, correcting himself, “Y/n… why would you think that was better?”

The hurt was clear in his eyes. Clear in his voice. The kind of hurt that comes from believing in something, only to have it taken away.

She lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought I was distracting you. Or—I don’t know—maybe the love wasn’t there anymore. And I didn’t want that, Lan.” The guilt tightened in her chest as she added softly, “Sorry…”

Lando’s expression softened, but there was pain behind his eyes. “We… we could’ve talked about it,” he said, his voice thick with the weight of what could’ve been. “I told you—sometimes things feel heavy even when they’re not.”

Slowly, he closed the space between them, close enough for her to feel the warmth of him again. His voice turned gentle, too gentle—the kind of softness that made her heart ache. “You should’ve been honest with me, love.”

And she hated that. Hated how kind he was. Hated how he could still be so tender when all she’d done was push him away.

[aventurineswife]

I'd like to request please! Welt and ratio with a reader who stares at them with these sappy, lovestruck eyes while they're in the middle of explaining something. Then they stop and see them stare that way, and they're like "why are you looking at me like that?" to which the reader, still with heart in their eyes, replies "like what?" Anyways I love your writing so muchhh mwah mwah 🥴🥴🫶🫶

“Don't look at me with those eyes”

Tags: Welt x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Fluff, Slightly Suggestive (but not explicit), Admiration, Affection, Romantic Tension, Heartwarming Moments, Slow burn (Implied).

Welt stood before the crew, carefully explaining the mechanics of gravity manipulation, his cane resting by his side. His voice was steady, composed, carrying with it the wisdom of a lifetime spent on Earth’s frontlines. The crew listened attentively, but you—well, you had your eyes on him, more specifically on his gentle expression, the way his fingers caressed the cane with ease, and the slight glint in his eyes as he spoke of his experiences. You couldn’t help but admire the quiet strength he exuded, the balance he had found between being a protector and a teacher.

As he continued, you leaned against the table, your gaze unwavering, the world around you seeming to melt away in the warmth of his presence. He paused mid-sentence, his eyes catching yours. The air shifted, a moment of silence stretching between you both. Welt's brow furrowed slightly, a bemused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice dipping into that dry, amused tone he often took when he caught you in a moment of soft vulnerability.

You blinked, suddenly realizing you’d been staring at him with an almost embarrassing intensity. Flustered, you tried to act casual, but the words that came out of your mouth only made the moment more obvious.

“Like what?” you asked, your voice soft, eyes still sparkling with affection. You tried to suppress the fond smile that threatened to spread across your face but failed miserably.

Welt chuckled softly, a quiet rumble that reverberated in his chest. "You know exactly what I mean," he replied, stepping closer with that steady, graceful stride of his. "You're acting like I just gave you the key to the universe."

You shrugged, your heart beating a little faster, but you didn’t look away. "Maybe you did."

Welt's smile softened. He had seen the way you looked at him before, and though he wasn't one to show his vulnerability easily, there was something about your gaze that made him feel less burdened by the weight of the world he once carried. It felt lighter, shared, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t mind being looked at that way.

"You’re hopeless," he said fondly, though the warmth in his tone was unmistakable.

The rest of the crew was too busy with their own discussions to notice, but for you and Welt, the universe had just shrunk into a small, quiet moment, one that held more meaning than anything he could have taught with gravity.

Ratio was mid-sentence, passionately explaining the intricacies of a new theory on intergalactic education reform when he caught you staring. Your gaze was intense, filled with admiration as you looked at him with wide, lovestruck eyes. He paused, mid-lecture, eyes narrowing slightly as he observed your expression. His wavy hair framed his face, and his ever-present confidence faltered just for a moment as he tried to make sense of your gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Ratio's tone was sharp, his voice tinged with the slightest hint of confusion and annoyance—though there was something in his eyes that betrayed his interest.

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his attention. Your heart fluttered, but you couldn’t pull your gaze away from his vibrant eyes. “Like what?” you replied sweetly, your voice full of innocent curiosity, though your heart was racing.

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. "Like you’re some lovesick fool. I’m in the middle of explaining a groundbreaking concept, and you’re gazing at me like I’m some kind of academic genius—oh wait, I am a genius."

You giggled softly, still not breaking your gaze. “Maybe I’m just admiring the genius, then,” you teased, the playful tone of your voice laced with sincerity. “You’re not exactly easy to look away from, you know.”

Ratio blinked, his confident posture faltering as a slight blush crept to his cheeks. He was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of such genuine admiration, especially not for something so personal as his appearance or presence. Usually, his brilliance overshadowed everything else. But this? This was something new.

“You—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, clearly flustered, though he would never admit it. “You’re incorrigible. Focus on the topic at hand, would you?”

You only smiled brighter, knowing full well that while Ratio might try to hide it, your gaze made him feel something more than the detached intellectual he often portrayed. Maybe, just maybe, he liked being admired for more than just his intellect.

"Fine," you said with a shrug, "but I’m just saying, you look pretty good while explaining things. I’ll try to focus on the theory… but no promises."

Ratio sighed, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though his eyes softened as he looked at you, the quiet affection in his gaze betraying the outward dismissive tone.

And though the conversation shifted back to cosmic education and intergalactic studies, both of you knew that this small, unexpected moment was far more significant than anything that could be taught in a lecture.

[litsenn]

Safe touch

Pairing: Astarion x reader [no gender mentioned] Word count: 1.7K Summary: Astarion is starting to have a panic attack, will you find a way to help him? Read it on AO3

Jaw clenching, alarmed eyes, trembling lips; Astarion isn’t feeling alright. And you, you recognize the first signs of a panic attack.

Approaching carefully, you try to catch his gaze with your own, but it’s shifty, elusive. You know it would be pointless to ask him how he feels.

“Astarion? Maybe you should try to breathe slowly.” You suggests in a gentle whisper.

“I don’t need to breathe.” He snaps, his voice hoarse, bitter, and his fists clenching at his sides. You can almost hear the heavy, painful lump growing in the back of this throat.

You don’t recoil. You’re not letting him down now, but you know you have to proceed carefully.

Your chambers in the Elfsong Tavern are awfully quiet. The other companions are downstairs, and you’re both supposed to join them. But you already know it won’t happen this evening.

“You might not actually need it, but sometimes it helps.”

Astarion shakes his head, his movements sharp. The wince on his face, filled with fear and anxiety, breaks your heart. You never saw him like this before, but you should have expected this to happen. After all, you’ve been back in Baldur’s Gate a few days ago only, and after the spawns’ intrusion the night before, you can’t expect Astarion to feel serene.

You need to be patient with him, and you will. He needs you to be patient.

The tension between the two of you is so heavy you can almost feel its weight on your shoulders, but it won’t stop you. You slowly walk to the bed behind Astarion and sit down on the edge. He observes you from the corner of his eyes but doesn’t make a single move.

“Please, sit with me, Astarion.”

No answer. Your heartbeat quickens with anticipation as you silently beg for him to accept.

After a moment that feels like an eternity, Astarion finally turns around hesitantly and makes a few steps toward the bed. His features are still tense, but they’re also imbued with a disarming vulnerability. You give him a gentle, hopeful smile. When he finally closes the gap between you and sits at your side, his body is still agitated with tremors and he refuses to look you in the eyes.

With great care, you slowly reached out for his hand. As soon as your skin touch, Astarion freeze for a second, before relaxing slightly just enough to let you rest your fingers against his knuckles. Your touch is light as a feather, barely brushing along his fingers. A gentle presence, but not an overwhelming one.

Your eyes never leave his face as you start to take long, deep breaths, quietly encouraging him to mimic you. He hesitates again, frowning as he watches your chest rise and fall rhythmically, the sounds of your breath like a soft music only he can hear. He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak. He breathes. You nod. One inspiration after another. He struggles to match your rhythm but eventually aligns his inspirations with yours. You’re breathing in synch, and you can easily see him relax, if only a little. Shoulders slouching slightly, his eyes finally finding yours. The moment feels precious, sacred almost. For a few long seconds, only the two of you exist, your featherlike touch on his hand, the air that passes between you, the melody of your synchronized breathing. You want to tell him it’s going to be alright. You want to tell him he’s safe. But you know words, right now, are meaningless. Your silent promises carry more truth than any grand declaration.

Another sparkle of relief rises in your chest as you feel his fingers react gently to your touch, intertwining with yours. You give a little squeeze, and he gives you sad smile that touches your soul so deeply you could have wept about it.

Breathing helps but Astarion is still unwell. No longer in panic mode, but clearly dismayed. His fingers are pressed against your palm, and another idea pops up in your mind.

Shifting slowly on the bed, you let go of his hand and sit against the bedstand. Astarion watches in confusion, a disappointed twitch of his eye as your hands part. Crossed-legged, you take a pillow and put it on your lap.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a raw whisper, as if rediscovering his breath was altering his voice.

“I’d like to try something with you, Astarion.”

He looks at you suspiciously, tensing up again.

“Nothing you’re not comfortable with!” You quickly add, desperate to reassure him. “Whatever happens, say the word and everything stops.”

The look on Astarion’s face is still that of suspicion, but you can already detect a few signs of curiosity in the way his lips curls, in the spark in his eyes. As for the tension in his body, that creeping anxiety, it hasn’t receded but it’s under control – maybe too much.

“I’m listening.” He says, his sharp gaze following your every move.

“Would you rest your head against the pillow?”

His eyes widen as he watches you pat the cushion on your lap. “I don’t understand, darling. Why would I…?”

“Please, Astarion. Can you trust me with that? I promise I won’t insist if you don’t like it.”

He lets out a laboured sigh, gazes at the room around you, taking in the quietness of the moment but also the looming threat only he can feel as the night falls upon the city.

You wait silently, until Astarion finally decides to lay down. Resting on his back, his head against the soft pillow, he’s looking up at you. Now you can feel the little tremors in his tensing muscles.

“Thank you…” you whisper, and you mean it. You’re grateful for his trust, for his willingness to give you a chance. “I’m going to touch your hair. Nothing more.”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves his lips. “And why would you do that, darling?”

“Try to relax, please. And let me know if anything feels wrong.”

He shrugs but keeps his eyes on your face. The pressure of his head against your lap is somehow comforting. It’s the first time you see his face from this perspective, and he looks as handsome as usual, albeit the anxiety still haunting his features.

“This is ridiculous.” Astarion winces, obviously unconvinced.

You don’t pay attention to that last remark, moving your hands instead, putting your fingertips against this scalp. Your touch is careful, and you watch Astarion closely, observing his reaction. The vampire spawn doesn’t react immediately, waiting for you to actually do something. Your heart is pounding hard, and you know he can hear it, feel it. You take the time you need to calm down.

When you feel ready, you start combing his silver locks with your fingers. His hair feels like silk, and you can’t help marvelling at its softness. Of course it’s not the first time you touch his hair, but you never really had the opportunity to focus on it before, to really appreciate how soft it is, to observe its luminous shine in the candlelight. For a short moment, you even forget to check on his reaction, your fingers gliding hypnotically through the silky strands.

When you focus on his face again, you instantly notice the change in his features; Astarion has closed his eyes in the meanwhile, the tension is slowly leaving his muscles, but there’s still a confused frown on his brow.

“Is it alright?” you ask hesitantly, as if afraid of his answer.

The nod he gives you is instantaneous, visceral. And it’s followed by a deep, content sigh.

You smile, you can’t help it, and you go on. You play with his hair, brushing ever so slightly against his scalp and forehead, your fingertips tracing his hairline down to his temples. Your nails aren’t that long, not after so many weeks of adventure, and some of them are even broken, but with the tip of them, you follow his hairline until your reach the nape of his neck. A gentle caress there at the top of his spine, and he shivers under your touch.

He’s smiling softly.

Your fingertips keep on travelling through his hair, combing the silver strands, and each time you brush against his ear, a little gasp escapes his lips.

He’s relaxing, progressively, slowly, but it’s working.

“Astarion…?”

“Hmmm?”

“May I touch your face?”

A moment of silence. His eyes are still closed but you can almost see the gears in his mind.

“Yes…”

Tilting your head, you carefully place your thumbs against his temples while your index fingers begin to trace his jawline, gliding down to his chin ever so slowly. Then back up again, across his cheekbones, tracing soft patterns under his eyes and from the corners of them up to his forehead. With infinite care, you let your finger glide along his eyebrows until the frown on his brow finally vanishes.

“Does it feel alright?” You ask softly.

“Keep going, darling… please.”

Your heart skips a beat. Astarion is enjoying this, and so are you.

The whole world around has disappeared, you’re both tucked in your own bubble, safe and finally peaceful.

It’s like a dance, your fingertips on his skin, sweeping away the tension, leaving goosebumps in their trail as they follow the line of his nose, the line of his lips and the corner of his mouth. You can even see that Astarion is trying not to smile, and suddenly, you want to kiss those lips. But you don’t. Not now. This is not about kissing or groping, not even about flirting.

It’s something else. Something that needs no word, no explanation.

Just your touch, safe and soft against his skin, in his hair, and Astarion’s precious mind released from the growing panic that was plaguing it just a moment ago. His body, bruised and abused so many times, finally rediscovering what tenderness truly means, finally understanding that a foreign hand is not necessarily a violent hand. All fingernails don’t scratch and cut, some of them can caress and soothe.

Before long, his features look perfectly peaceful, the fears gone, for now at least. You soon realize that he’s truly resting. Not trancing. Sleeping. You wonder if he’s dreaming, you hope there will be no nightmare, but the slight smile on his lips doesn’t vanish, and you smile with him.

[melwnst]

────── ⋆⋅☆ ILLICIT AFFAIRS, SAM WINCHESTER

summary. Being in love with his brother’s girlfriend drives Sam insane.

↬now playing| illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

⭑.ᐟshould I write a part two where they physically cheat so I can make some people cry for Dean? 🤭

word count. 748

supernatural masterlist/full masterlist

──────────୨ৎ──────────

Sam stares as his soul is being ripped apart from him for the millionth time.

He stares until he feels his heart shatter into smaller parts day after day.

He’s not sure how his heart still works.

He’s not sure he has one anymore, actually.

He stares, he wonders, he tries not to cry because surely he’s being ridiculous.

He’s probably the worst brother in history of brothers.

He knows he doesn’t deserve you.

He sure as hell knows he’ll never have you.

Maybe that part of him that hopes so much is what keeps him alive after all.

The nights spent wondering about what life would look like if only you’d chosen him and not Dean.

The countless dreams and what ifs keeping him awake constantly- wanting nothing more but to just love you.

He thinks maybe loving you from a distance will still help- because at least he still gets to- you’re still an important part of his life- at least he has that- you.

He wants to scream sometimes.

He wants to scream at Dean, because although Sam knows he loves you, you still deserve better.

Maybe not him- but better.

Maybe it’d be easier if you were with anyone else other than his brother.

Maybe he wouldn’t want to scream so much.

He wants to scream at you to wake up and see what’s right there in front of you.

He wants to show you everything he’s ever wanted to give you.

Then- loving from a distance doesn’t feel so right anymore.

It feels itchy, like it’s right there under his skin, like it’s laughing at him, playing, making him believe all this time only to hit him in the face with the reality that it’s truly never going to happen.

Surely you’ll get your happy ending.

Maybe with Dean- probably not.

Maybe with a stranger.

Maybe with Sam in another life.

Sam’s not so sure he deserves a happy ending.

Not with you.

Not with someone else- because truthfully, he doesn’t see himself loving anyone other than you, and that eats at him.

His brain plays tricks sometimes.

He swears he can see you looking from across the room.

Glancing at him and looking away the moment he catches your eye like you didn’t mean to be caught.

He sees you bite your lip when he talks like you can’t hear a single word he says, like you need him in order to breathe.

He probably imagines all of it.

The way you reach for his hand trying to comfort him- as a friend.

The way you look at him when dean’s not looking or not around.

The way your hands get sweaty around him, the beat of your heart fastening and him swearing he can almost hear it.

He’s not okay with the what ifs.

He wants to tell you.

Except he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to be a horrible brother.

He knows his brother would kill him.

He doesn’t want to break that bond with him, drift away only because he wasn’t fast enough getting the girl of his dreams.

He doesn’t act but he wonders if you feel it.

If you feel the tension, sometimes sexual, sometimes just in the air like unspoken words eating at the both of you like torture.

He wonders if maybe, just maybe there’s a chance out there.

In 20 years.

Right now.

In another life, or universe.

He stares at the ceiling at night thinking about all of the times he could’ve acted on it before you even thought of falling for Dean.

He doesn’t know that you do the same thing.

You think about all of the times he reached for your hand and you pulled back as if you didn’t see it because you were too scared.

You think of the times he’d read to you to help you fall asleep, something Dean’s never done.

The way he’d ramble about his favorite books, geek over his favorite movies not knowing you actually love them just as much.

It’s unspoken but it’s there.

Maybe Dean deserves to know.

Maybe you don’t deserve either of them.

Perhaps the universe is sending you messages with the way you can’t stop thinking about another man.

About Sam.

A small part of you wishes that Dean would just up and leave. Break your heart so Sam can patch it up.

Maybe that makes you a terrible person.

But maybe love is there.

Maybe it’s never going away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

taglist: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @l0v33-rey @sunnyteume @that-stanford-girlie @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @beelzebzb (comment to be added!🤍)

[ryomenslvr]

feedback

interlude

rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo

synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.

a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)

content warnings: MDNI, emotional conflict, slight smut, blurred boundaries, complicated relationship dynamics

series masterlist

You’re not sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was to avoid what happened at the venue. Maybe it was because, deep down, you really did want to go back to Sukuna’s place.

You weren’t sure.

That’s what you were thinking as you sat in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s, admittedly nice, car. Clean leather, deep red interior lights, quiet music pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat. It didn’t smell like him, not exactly. More like winter air, soft cologne, and something faintly metallic. The kind of scent you couldn’t name but would remember.

He didn’t talk much on the drive.

You didn’t either.

And maybe that was the first thing you noticed, how silence with Sukuna didn’t press in the same way it did with others. It wasn’t awkward. It was patient. Steady. Like he knew the words would come eventually and he wasn’t going to fish for them before you were ready.

When he pulled up to the curb outside a tall, narrow building tucked into a dim side street, he glanced at you, not expectantly, but just to check.

“You good?” he asked simply.

You nodded, even if you didn’t fully mean it.

The inside of his apartment was… unexpected.

Clean. Minimalist. Dark wood floors and black walls, lit only by warm, golden track lights and a single floor lamp. A guitar rack stood against one wall, lined with instruments that looked expensive and well-loved. There were band posters too, some framed, some slightly crooked. Not all of them were his.

He toed off his boots by the door and gestured for you to come in. “Make yourself at home.”

You hesitated before stepping fully inside, your fingers brushing the doorframe like you were trying to get a read on the space through touch alone.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d be surprised by furniture.”

You snorted softly. “Didn’t peg you as someone who dusts.”

“I don’t. My manager sends someone once a month.”

You wandered further in, pausing in front of a set of black-and-white photos hung over the couch. One showed a younger Sukuna on stage, no tattoos yet, hair longer, his mouth open mid-scream. Another showed his band’s first tour lineup, all in sharpie-scrawled t-shirts, sitting on a cracked curb with fast food bags between their feet.

“You look… lighter here,” you said without thinking.

He joined you, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the photo. “I was.”

You nodded slowly. “What changed?”

He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Success. Pressure. Satoru.”

That last word made your chest tighten.

He didn’t elaborate. Just walked to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of tea from the fridge, same kind he always left on your console.

He handed you one.

“Thanks.”

You both sat on the couch, and for a while, the silence returned. He flicked on a playlist, mostly instrumentals, ambient and slow. Nothing flashy. Nothing with words.

“Why’d you say yes?” he asked eventually.

You turned to him. “To coming here?”

He nodded.

You stared at the tea bottle in your hands. “Because I didn’t want to go home.”

“That all?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s like, being around you is confusing, but being away from you is...”

That earned a small, sardonic smile. “You’re not exactly easy for me either.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, then turned fully to face you. “You walk into a room and everything feels like it’s about to change.”

You blinked. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s true,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. “You ask questions no one else does. You make things feel like they’re worth saying out loud.”

You looked away. “Gojo says stuff like that too.”

“He would.”

You turned back. “He’s not a bad guy.”

“I never said he was.”

“You hate him.”

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

“I respected him once,” he said. “Maybe still do, in ways I don’t like admitting. He was the first person who made me feel like I had to prove myself. I used to think that was a compliment.”

You let the silence settle again.

“He’s in love with you,” Sukuna added, like it wasn’t a question.

“I know,” you whispered.

“Do you love him back?”

You didn’t answer right away. The words tangled up in your throat.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I did. Maybe I still do, in that way you love the people who grew up beside you. But he’s… he’s always been my anchor. And lately it feels like I’ve been trying to swim, and he’s afraid I’ll drift too far.”

Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable.

You reached for something to change the subject, heart pounding.

“Earlier, when you were teaching me guitar, can we go back to that?”

He blinked. “Yeah. You still interested?”

“Sort of,” you said. “It just felt like something I didn’t have to overthink.”

Sukuna stood up and retrieved a guitar, handing it to you with careful hands. It wasn’t the same one from earlier in the day, no, this one was a deep red. It matched his eyes.

You held it like it might break.

“Relax,” he said, moving to sit beside you. “You’re gripping it like it owes you money.”

You laughed. “Sorry. It’s expensive.”

He chuckled and shifted closer, knees brushing yours. “Here. Try this chord.”

You fumbled. He reached around you, one arm across your back, his hand guiding yours into position.

Your breath hitched.

His voice was low, barely above your ear. “There. Feel that?”

You nodded, unable to speak.

He didn’t move away immediately. His hand lingered on yours. His presence wrapped around you like gravity, quiet and impossible to ignore.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

His breath was warm on your neck. His arm still draped lightly behind you, steadying the guitar, steadying you. You weren’t sure when you’d started leaning into him, or if you had at all, but suddenly the space between your bodies didn’t exist. It was like the air itself had shifted, grown heavier, slower.

“You’re holding your breath,” Sukuna murmured.

You exhaled, shaky, caught.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He tilted his head just enough for his temple to brush yours. “You always apologize when you get close to something.”

Your fingers tensed slightly around the fretboard. “Close to what?”

He didn’t answer, not directly. His hand ghosted down your arm, knuckles skimming your wrist as he took the neck of the guitar from you and gently set it aside. His other hand landed on your knee, barely touching, just enough for your breath to catch again.

“Maybe it’s not the guitar that’s making you nervous,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.

You met his eyes.

It was hard not to.

In the soft light, his expression was unreadable again, but his focus was unshakable, like everything about him was wired for intensity. He didn’t look at people, he looked into them.

“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, voice low.

He gave a slow nod. “I figured.”

You laughed once, awkwardly. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who notices,” he said.

His hand slid just a little higher along your thigh, resting there with purpose. Not pushing. Not testing. Just letting you feel him.

“Sukuna…” you said, unsure of the rest.

“I won’t rush you,” he said quickly. “If you’re not sure, just say so. I don’t need the wrong kind of silence.”

But you weren’t unsure.

That was the terrifying part.

Your whole body felt like it was strung on a wire, every nerve humming. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of how easy it was to want him. How easy it was to forget the rest of the world existed when his voice dropped to that tone and he looked at you like nothing else in the room mattered.

“I’m not confused about this,” you whispered.

A pause. His gaze sharpened just slightly.

“Then what are you confused about?”

“Everything else.”

That made him smile, small, crooked. But real.

“Good,” he said, leaning in closer until your noses nearly brushed. “Let everything else wait.”

And then he kissed you.

Not cautiously. Not testing the waters. It was deliberate and slow, confident in a way that left no room for doubt.

His mouth was warm, more grounding than dreamy. Where Gojo’s touches always felt like flirting with gravity, Sukuna’s felt like being claimed by it, steady, certain, unmistakably real.

You opened to him without meaning to, lips parting as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands moved to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, holding you still like he didn’t want to let you drift.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, to feel your pulse in your throat. “This isn’t complicated for you?”

He shook his head. “It could be. But it’s not. Not when you’re here.”

You swallowed.

“Then take me out of my head.”

He didn’t need more than that.

In a fluid motion, he leaned back into you, drawing you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips on the couch. The guitar was forgotten, pushed somewhere behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, then under the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, grounding lines against your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said against your throat, even as his lips pressed there, open and slow.

“I’ll tell you,” you breathed, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like a question.

“So are you,” you whispered back.

That got a laugh out of him, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your collarbone. His hand moved higher, palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer.

Then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier now. Like something in him had snapped once he knew you wanted this too. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, heat licking through your body at the sound of it.

You didn’t know when your hands started tugging at his shirt, or when his fingers found the waistband of your jeans, but suddenly you were drowning in sensation. His body against yours. His breath against your skin. His voice, low and wrecked, murmuring things you couldn’t even process as his mouth moved along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“Sukuna,” you whispered, the word barely holding shape in your mouth.

He looked up at you, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”

You did.

You said it again and again as the couch shifted beneath you, as his hands mapped out your skin like he was memorizing you, as the last of the distance between you disappeared.

And by the time the room had settled again, clothes discarded in a lazy trail to the floor, your body aching in the best possible way, there was only one thing you knew for sure.

You hadn’t just gone to his apartment to forget what happened at the venue.

You had come here to be seen.

And Sukuna?

He had seen all of you.

You woke to quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt unfamiliar, not the cold stillness of your own apartment, not the background hum of an empty venue. This silence had weight to it. Warmth.

You didn’t open your eyes at first.

There was pressure against your back, steady, strong. A forearm draped loosely over your waist. The slow, measured rise and fall of a chest behind you. You were still tucked under a blanket, curled up in a bed that wasn’t yours. The scent of tea, cedar, and that faint metallic note from last night lingered in the air, now mixed with something warmer. Skin and sleep.

Sukuna.

Your stomach twisted, not with regret, but with the soft jolt of realization.

You’d stayed.

You’d fallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.

And he hadn’t let go.

Carefully, slowly, you shifted your arm and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a low glow, casting blue light across the room.

It was past ten.

You blinked.

Two messages at the top of your screen made your stomach drop:

[10:07 AM] Ijichi (Venue Manager):

Hey. You and Ryomen were scheduled for load-in yesterday—everything okay?

And then another, from someone else entirely.

[9:46 AM] SATORU:

Thought you said you needed space.

Guess I just didn’t realize who you wanted space with.

There were several more messages from him, all scattered across the night, each one a little softer… and a little sadder.

[11:12 PM] SATORU:

You’re not answering. That’s fine.

I just wish you’d tell me when things change.

[11:24 PM] SATORU:

I keep wondering when I stopped being enough.

When did you stop telling me things?

[11:46 PM] SATORU:

Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just—

I don’t know what I’m doing either.

[12:03 AM] SATORU:

Forget it. Pretend I didn’t say any of that.

[12:19 AM] SATORU:

I hope he makes you laugh the way I did.

Or better. Maybe you deserve better.

[12:47 AM] SATORU:

I keep checking my phone like an idiot.

Why do I do that?

[1:03 AM] SATORU:

I miss you.

Even when I try not to.

[1:26 AM] SATORU:

I’m going to bed. Don’t worry. I won’t message again.

You swallowed hard, pulse tightening behind your ribs. You turned your phone screen over, pressing it to the mattress like that would erase what you saw. Was satoru drunk? Why would he message all those things to you? It wasn’t like him at all.

Sukuna stirred behind you, it ripped you out of your thoughts. 

His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pulling his arm back and propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.

“You’re tense.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “We missed rehearsal.”

His brow furrowed. “Shit. I didn’t even set an alarm.”

You shook your head, not angry. Just… overwhelmed.

“I’ve got like five texts from Ijichi,” you added. “And a few from Satoru..”

That last part came out quiet.

Sukuna didn’t say anything. You looked over your shoulder at him.

He was watching you, awake now, his expression unreadable again. His hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

He looked human.

“What did he say?” Sukuna asked, voice steady.

You reached for your phone again and turned it around so he could read only the first message.

Sukuna’s jaw ticked just once. “Of course.”

“He’s not wrong,” you said, softer than you meant to. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t even tell him I was with you.”

“You didn’t owe him that.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I owed him something. A conversation. Honesty.”

Sukuna leaned back, resting against the headboard. His voice was quiet now. Careful. “Do you regret being here?”

You looked at him, and you hated that you didn’t have a quick answer.

“No,” you said eventually. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

You sat up, pulling the blanket with you, suddenly too aware of your bare shoulders, of his sheets, of everything intimate and raw that had been left behind from the night before.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With any of this.”

Sukuna nodded once, like he’d been expecting that.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t want to go home. I just… need to think.”

He stood up then, grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. “You can think here.”

You glanced up.

His voice had changed, less clipped, less guarded. A little gentler.

“I’ll make something,” he said. “You eat eggs?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Don’t go ghosting on me while I’m in the kitchen.”

A faint smile curved your lips. “Not planning on it.”

He disappeared down the hall, and the sound of cabinet doors and the hum of a stovetop filled the silence he left behind.

You sat there for a long moment, the smell of coffee starting to drift into the room, mixing with the warmth left in the sheets beside you.

It was quiet again.

For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like running. But how come you couldn’t stop thinking of Satoru?

dividers by @/redroud1 <3

header art by @su2kuna on twitter <3

taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @evilari111 @ssetsuka @not-aya @macchianikato @kitassecretgf @universal-s1ut @kitty-yaps @shinrjj @linaaeatsfamilies @justanothersunflowergirl @nana1344 @bbokariii @reicyberia @bxnfire

[misty-petals]

My heart beats for you

|Yeon Sieun x Reader

|Romance, mild angst, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort

English is not my first language.

Summary:You just wanted to be loved as much as you loved. But some people show their hearts before words—and his was beating for you all along.

The cold afternoon wind drifted through the nearly empty streets, rustling the dry leaves on the ground. You were there, sitting on the same stair step where you two used to meet after class. But for the first time in a long while, that place felt... uncomfortable.

The silence, once so comforting between you, now felt heavy. Suffocating.

You glanced to the side, looking at Sieun. He was sitting next to you, arms crossed, eyes fixed on some distant point — like he was avoiding you, avoiding what you were feeling.

Your chest tightened. Your voice stayed stuck in your throat for several long minutes, until you just couldn’t hold it anymore.

— “Sometimes...” — your voice came out softer than you expected, barely a whisper. — “Sometimes I feel like... like I love you more than you love me.”

The words hung in the air. Clear. Raw. And you almost regretted saying them the second they left your mouth.

Sieun stayed still. Not a word. Not a sound. Just silence. But it wasn’t the usual silence you both were used to sharing. This one was different. Heavy. Full of tension. Full of everything he never quite knew how to say.

Your chest tightened even more, and you felt that lump in your throat growing, threatening to spill over into tears.

— “I know you’re not good with words... I know.” — you went on, nervously squeezing your own hands. — “But sometimes it feels like I’m fighting for this relationship alone... like I’m the only one feeling all of this. And... it hurts. It hurts so much.”

He took a deep breath. Once, twice. His jaw tensed, his fingers clutching the fabric of his pants. Like he was fighting with himself. Like he had no idea where to even start.

Suddenly, he stood up. For a second, you thought he was leaving. That he was going to walk away. Say nothing.

But instead, he turned, took two steps toward you and, without a word, grabbed your hands. Both of them. Firmly.

Surprised, you stood up quickly, almost on instinct — as if your body moved on its own, like staying seated near that intensity was impossible.

You looked at him, startled. His eyes were different. Not cold, not distant. They were trembling. Saying everything without a single word.

Slowly, he lifted your hand and pressed it against his chest.

The sound of his heartbeat was loud. Fast. Almost desperate.

He took a deep breath, held your gaze, and with a low, rough voice, laced with a sincerity that almost hurt, he whispered:

— “You know what’s here?” — he pressed your hand tighter against his chest, making you feel every frantic beat. — “This... this beats for you. Only for you.”

His eyes faltered for a second, but he didn’t look away.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Your chest ached so much it physically hurt. The entire world seemed to disappear — leaving just the two of you. Just him, holding your hand against his chest, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered in his whole universe.

— “I don’t know...” — he breathed, closing his eyes tight, trying to piece together everything he was feeling. — “I don’t know how to say these things. I don’t know how... to show you the right way. But... you mean everything to me. Everything.”

You felt the tears burn in your eyes.

— “Sieun...” — your voice cracked, heavy with emotion.

He let go of your hands only to cup your face in both of his. His palms were cold, but his touch... his touch was the warmest, safest, most loving thing you’d ever felt.

— “Don’t make me say this again... please.” — he whispered, his eyes trembling, full of truth. — “I... I’m sorry. For everything I’ve done that ever hurt you.”

You didn’t think. You couldn’t. You just threw yourself into his arms, holding him like your life depended on it. And in that embrace... you felt everything.

The love he didn’t know how to say.

The care he always showed in silence.

His fear of losing you.

And most of all... how that heart was beating for you.

He held you tight, burying his face in your neck, his voice coming out low, muffled, but so full of love it made your whole body tremble.

— “I love you...” — he whispered, almost breathless, like the words were too much to hold inside. — “I love you so much it scares me. And I promise... I’ll never let you feel like this again.”

And right there, in his arms, with the sound of his racing heart pounding against your chest, you realized... you would never doubt it again.

Note 1: Hello! The idea for this story came from an image. When I saw her on Pinterest, I was dying to write her and I had no choice but to do so. I thought of other characters besides Sieun, but I just imagined it, I haven't written it yet. So I wanted to know what you guys think about me doing some more one-shots in the vibe of this story.

Note 2: The image that served as inspiration is the one between the two images of Sieun, but I'll put it below this text so you can see it better. Oh! Before I forget, I want to know one more thing from you: did anyone besides me feel or imagine anything when seeing this image?

(Well, this image I used for inspiration)

Sorry to take up your time and thank you so much for reading this story ♡

[gugudalala]

ft. sae itoshi / rin itoshi x reader

synopsis: They grew up together, hearts quietly entwined — even when Sae left for America. Now that Sae's back, Rin is done watching from the sidelines and pushes his way between them, Sae's long-suppressed jealousy boils over — the quiet bond they once shared threatens to erupt into something far more dangerous.

TW: smut with plot, spanking, degradation, size kink, unprotected, praise, ect+++

words: 1087

A/N. I do not own any of the character or picture (credit to the rightful owner) only the plots are mine. 

Enjoy ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

CH: 1 | 2 | 3

────୨ৎ────

You slip out of bed quietly, careful not to wake Rin. Last night was never something you imagined would happen. He had always been the quiet, kind younger brother you grew up with. Your family member would never question the night as you sometimes sleep over at his place after some long night tutoring and today they would leave with his family for a trip Sae provided as a gift.

As you dress and move to leave his room, you try not to make a sound, not wanting to disturb anyone else in the house. But just as you reach the hallway, you stop in your tracks — Sae is standing by his door, half-naked as if he’d been waiting for you all along. Without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Before you can react, you're tossed onto his bed, the mattress dipping beneath you.

“Sae?” you breathe, barely getting the name out. It feels like last night all over again but this time with Sae. 

His eyes burned with anger, yet beneath it, I could feel the heat of his desire “If I had known, I would fuck you way sooner” he grunted as he got down to the side of the bed. Reaching out to you and force your leg open “No!” you scream as you try to close them. You didn't want him to see the tace that had been left from the night before. But that does not stop him as he forces you out of your dress and rips out your panties keeping you wide open for him. 

“You're sore” he mentioned as his hand spread you open. Tracing along your slit, he yank his hand to slap your pussy “I had you first, but you let him steal what already belonged to me”  he slapped again on your slit, on your clit, on your tights. You try to squirm and close your leg only to be forced open and slapped harder you choke out a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan as you feel both pain and pleasure from him “I want it red” he demanded as he gave you one last hard slap 

he grabs you tight with both hands and keeps you open as he takes his time viewing his work on you. His face was so close to your cunt, you could feel his breath on you. He then licks your pussy soothing the pain that was there. He takes his time tasting you. As he pushes his tongue into you, you whine from the soreness of the night before. But that didn’t stop him as he kept linking using his tongue to pleasure you. You can’t help but feel the tension in your stomach knowing that soon you will cum, you grab onto his head trying to push him out only for him to dig in deeper, and you come onto his face. By the time you come down from your high the whole lower half of the face is soaked and dripping and he still doesn’t stop 

“Please, no more…” you plead. But that does not stop him. He used his tongue to play with your clit as he used his finger to gather your juices to play with your arse “No! Don’t—please, not there… I’m begging you” you cry out to him “You give him your front, then I should take mine as well” he murmurs, voice low, taunting. He pushed his finger in deeply, spreading you open. He kisses, licks, and plays with your clit to make you feel nothing but pleasure. You could feel the coil coming back, you reaching your peak again with a shaking leg. He got up and remove his pants, at this point you are too tired to even move. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap with your back to him and your leg wide open. You could feel the cold air hit you cunt. He adjusts himself and rubs his cock on your slit taking all the juices before then he slowly pushes it back into your arse. 

You tense up as you feel it going into your back “Relax” he groans as one of his arms holds you to him he uses his other hand to finger you. Being distracted from the pleasure from your front makes you relax and he was able to make you sink down to him, talking him whole. 

“I know you can take it, what a good slut you are” his hand continues to finger you as he makes you bounce on his cock. He slides in and out, harsh thrust, so deep that your eyes roll back and you let out choked moans. You never felt this much pleasure from both front and back, you can't help but scream his name. 

“That right scream my name, so he knows who fucking you” he thrust in harder both front and back. “Too much, too much” feeling from both sides, making you feel dizzy. The pleasure is too overpowering but what Sae did next pulls you back to your senses “Look who is here to watch” he whispers against your ear. You look up, coming to your senses to see Rin standing in front of you. Your eyes widen, heart pounding, as you meet his eyes burning with a mix of desire. But even with Rin in front, Sae didn’t stop he kept on thrusting while all you could do was whimper and taking it all.

You let out a broken moan reaching yet another climax and he grinned “Go on come, come like a whore you are” You came squirting, making a mess all over the place. His finger doesn’t stop making your mess go everywhere “Good fucking girl” after a few thrusts he comes into your arse.

You’re so far past tired, it’s like your body doesn’t belong to you anymore. Every inch of your skin is still echoing with last night’s touch and this morning’s cruelty. Sae lowers you onto the bed and Rin is still there, unmoving—silent, unreadable like a storm waiting to break.

Their eyes meet over your barely conscious body, and the air thickens. Something cracks between them, quiet but violent. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy, guilt, or possession snapping taut, but it coils in your chest like a warning.

You know, with a sinking certainty, that today isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

[thewitchblue]

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Tim asked, hurt. His own twin was hiding a secret lair. How did you even build this thing with nobody noticing? He felt betrayed. You mumbled while searching for a way to get the entire family out of your lair,

"It was the only thing I can call my own without needing to sibling tax half of it."

That hurt Tim even more because it's true. Everything you two have and everything you both do is together or split between you two. That's not always a bad thing, but it's nice to have something not tied to Tim for once in your life. You both work together better than anybody else and even suffer when apart in a lot of aspects, but you desperately need some autonomy, and so does Tim.

"We could have done so much illegal stuff in here, idiot."

Tim said, and just like that, the tension between you two broke. You ran towards him as he opened his arms to hug you.

"That's your fault that you brought them with you, stupid."

Your muffle voice said, officially smothering yourself into Tim's chest. Tim scoffed as he pulled you into a tighter embrace. How was he supposed to know this totally evil looking tower would be yours? You disabled all of your trackers and even cut out the one Tim thought he was subtle in injecting. He's certain you injected one into him, so he figured fair is fair.

"How did you even find the tracker I put in you? I placed it right next to your femoral artery. You could have died."

You smirked. The tracker wasn't small enough. He was an idiot not to put it into the artery itself like you did. There would be no way to cut it out because it was constantly moving inside his body. You said happily,

"I didn't, though!"

Tim rolled his eyes. Fine. You always were mechanically gifted. All of their newer tech was made by you and your brilliant brain. Who even thinks about half of the gear they have on them? You came up with nanotechnology specifically to track Tim. Who else would go that far just for Tim? It's saved him from many villains, but it's borderline insane and completely uncalled for. The worst part is that he hasn't found the device that displayed his specific tracking information. If he could, he would just take whatever device with him.

The device is actually inside your middle finger because it is hilarious to you. Screw Tim and his sneakiness. You're joining him or tracking his every movement when you do find out about him sneaking off.

Nobody should have given the twins access to unlimited resources. They just find ways to make the other's life slightly better or worse. It's straight up warfare, and it's a game the family can only watch helplessly and sigh. Why is Tim making shape-shifting tech? Because he wants to see what embarrassing things you tell your best friend to blackmail you with, of course! Why are you implementing malware in Tim's grapple gun? Because it's hilarious to see Tim flail mid-air, and you found the perfect spot on his patrol route to trigger the malfunction. You caught him, of course, but you made sure to call him a moron before fixing it as if it wasn't entirely your fault for fabricating the situation.

It's comical, yet also horrifying. You team up when someone gets in your way or, worse, hurt one of the two.

Jason learned that the hard way when he woke up in a warehouse chained to Joker with a shock collar around his neck to prevent him from either of them from leaving the warehouse. One of them was going to die (again), and you simply watched in the corner. The only words you said were,

"For Titan's Tower."

He already felt bad about it before the Joker chaining, but he learned a valuable lesson that day. Don't touch Tim, or he'll regret it.

Dick learned by listening in when Tim started reminiscing about the time you planted a homemade pipe bomb and called the bomb squad on the person. You recalled fondly as Dick looked at both of you with horror,

"He's still in prison on federal charges."

Tim laughed. Laughed. Dick was terrified for not only his life, but what if his cop buddies found out? His twin siblings could go to federal prison! On multiple charges! He had to walk away when you started talking about the time Tim put a secret switch in someone's backpack that blew up their entire house.

"The best part was that I managed to place her fingerprints on the switch!"

May the villains rest in peace if they kidnap one of the twins and not the other. Tim is not above committing war crimes, and neither are you. Who is the public really going to believe? The hero Red Robin amputated Poison Ivy's leg for daring to put mysterious powder on you or that some farmer mistook her leg for a weed and cut it off accidentally?

Only the villains will ever know. They are terrified of the twins and especially terrified of how aggressive Red Robin becomes when the Wayne brat gets kidnapped. You once got sold to someone in Metropolis, and Red Robin still showed up, furious and ready for war. Villains gossip and think you are dating him, which is venomous denied. You have ruined multiple lives when Jason cackled about seeing people shipping you with Red Robin.

"Send me the fanfic."

You demanded in a threatening tone. Not even Tim could qualm your rage. You found the writer and the owner of the website it was written on. You found everything about them and systematically destroyed their lives to the point the website owner sold it, but you kept going until someone finally deleted the website entirely.

"Nobody touches my brother."

You said in an interview when you were officially adopted. You made it sound playful until the interviewer asked,

"Aw, you mean your new brothers?"

You side-eyed Tim, but you bit your tongue when he subtly shook his head. Don't fight the interviewer so soon. Back them into a corner first. So you waited like a bear trap. For just the right time to snap their legs. The trap never did end up happening, however, as there was no more disrespect towards Tim and your relationship as siblings.

"Tim is my best friend and the best part of my life, but I'll give my new brothers a shot at becoming any better."

The interviewer made sure to take lots of photos of you both hanging off one another with matching grins that immortalised your love for each other. Nobody will dare get in the way of the siblings. You both are ready for war at any point of time with scary creativity and now unlimited resources. May the gods have mercy on their souls. The Batfamily was not ready for the devasting duo.

[angelicsoulic]

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ done for me ⊹ kazuha nakamura

⊹ ࣪ ˖ synopsis you’re in the studio recording and helping kazuha for recording her parts for your upcoming comeback with your group. but it's late, tiredness is setting in, and some things are becoming more concrete…

⊹ ࣪ ˖ disclaimer kazuha nakamura! x 7th! le sserafim member! fem! reader , fluff & flirty , tension, mention of huh yunjin

⊹ ࣪ ˖ song playing done for me - charlie puth feat kehlani

the studio clock read 1:14 a.m. the beat of your comeback track looped for the thirtieth time, but neither of you had the heart to stop it

the room was dim except for the gentle glow of the computer screen and the blinking red standby light from the mic in the booth

you leaned back in the chair, stretching your tired arms as kazuha removed her headphones and stepped out of the recording booth, her eyes tired but still glowing with focus

she flopped down beside you on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest

“that line’s gonna drive me insane,” she murmured, half-laughing into her sleeve. “i swear i’m hearing the syllables in my dreams now”

you smiled softly. “you nailed it on the last take, i just didn’t say anything ‘cause i like hearing your voice”

the words slipped out before you could stop them. she turned her head toward you slowly, eyes locking on yours in the dim light. but she didn’t tease you, not this time

silence wrapped around the two of you. heavy, but not uncomfortable. your legs brushed. her hand was dangerously close to yours. and you talked — about everything and nothing. about how the comeback pressure was starting to feel real. about how the trainee days felt like another life. about how tired you were, but how this — being here — felt like home

then came the shift. that almost imperceptible pause

you felt her eyes on you before you turned your head

“you always get like this when we’re alone,” kazuha whispered, voice like velvet and smoke. “quiet, like you’re thinking too hard”

“i am thinking too hard,” you replied, barely audible

“about what?”

you hesitated. but your silence said more than words could

and then — you felt it. her hand, resting on your thigh. a gentle squeeze. her thumb brushed slow, hypnotic circles into the denim

your breath hitched. you turned toward her, lips parting to say something, anything

but she leaned in before you could

her lips met yours in a kiss that wasn’t soft or unsure — it was desperate. familiar — even. like both of you had been holding your breath for far too long

you kissed her back just as fiercely, fingers threading into her hair, tugging her closer

kazuha’s hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, not wandering, just wanting to feel skin. her touch was slow, warm, grounding. like she was memorizing you

you gasped against her lips, breaking for air for just a second — but she was already pulling you back in, and you let her. because this was real. this was what the looks and the lingering touches and the unspoken things had all been leading to

and then

click

the door creaked open

kazuha froze

you hipped your head around, both your cheeks on fire

yunjin stood in the doorway with a water bottle in her hand, completely unfazed

“hey,” she said casually. “you guys seen my charger?”

silence. your heart pounded like it was mic’d and on the next track.

kazuha blinked, sitting up slightly, her hand still on your thigh under the blanket draped over both of you

“i — i think… third drawer,” she replied, breathless, her voice barely holding steady

yunjin looked at her, then at you, then back again. a smirk crept onto her face like she was trying not to laugh

“cool,” she said. “don’t let me interrupt.”

and with that, she walked out — leaving the door gently half-closed behind her

you and Kazuha stared at the door for a long second

then you both burst into quiet, breathless laughter

“she totally knows,” you said, your voice still shaking

kazuha didn’t even pretend to deny it. she turned toward you again, eyes soft, hand still on your thigh. “yeah,” she said. “but i kind of don’t care”

you looked at her — really looked at her — and smiled

for the first time all night, the silence wasn’t heavy. it was warm

because you’d said everything that mattered without ever saying a word…

[badathumanemotions]

Hi! How are you? If you're taking requests, I have one: Emily Prentiss × female! Oc. It's a dirty request, where I want Emily Prentiss to be submissive and the female! Oc/SN to be dominant. A context behind it, so it's not just sex, is after the "Honor Among Thieves" case, from the second season, more specifically after a dinner between the two with Elizabeth Prentiss (Emily's mother) that managed to push the female! Oc/SN to the limit. That's it, thank you :)

The Weight of Expectations

Emily Prentiss x Reader MDNI Masterlist CW: Angst With a Happy Ending, Smut, Sub Emily, Dom Reader, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Tribbing/ Scissoring, SubSpace, Love Bites, Aftercare. WC: 12,503

(Not Proof Read)

The house was as immaculate as you had expected, but somehow more sterile than you had imagined. Not cold exactly, but curated in a way that made the warmth feel artificial. The expensive fixtures gleamed, the lighting was soft and carefully arranged, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been placed by a designer rather than lived with. Nothing here felt touched.

You noticed the way Emily paused just inside the doorway, like stepping into this space required her to become someone she had worked hard to leave behind. Her hand found yours for a brief moment, her grip firm before she let go to slip out of her coat, her expression already composed.

Elizabeth greeted you both with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, air-kissing Emily’s cheek before offering you a polite nod. She was perfectly dressed, perfectly poised, and already perfectly condescending without saying a word. Her tone was smooth and measured as she led you into the dining room, offering a compliment on your outfit that sounded more like a subtle appraisal.

The moment you stepped inside, Elizabeth announced that dinner was just being served, her tone brisk like she had timed it perfectly on purpose. There was no chance to settle in, no invitation to get comfortable. Coats were taken, pleasantries were thin, and within minutes you were seated at the long, gleaming dining table.

The table was set like something out of a lifestyle magazine, all gleaming silver and delicate crystal, arranged with such precision it felt like a performance. You had always known Emily grew up in an affluent, high-society world, but seeing her placed back inside it felt strange. It made the version of her you knew, with her feet on the coffee table, hair tied back, laughing with a beer in hand, feel even more like the real one.

The food was plated with delicate precision, the kind of meal that looked more like it should be in an art exhibit than in front of someone planning to eat it. Emily sat across from you, already holding her wine glass, her posture stiff and practiced. She hadn't said much yet, and neither had Elizabeth, but something in the quiet tension between them was already pressing in. Like a storm waiting for the right comment to crack the sky open.

Elizabeth settled at the head of the table as if it were a throne. She commented on how nice it was to finally meet you, then added that Emily had taken her time bringing someone home.

“You know, Emily,” Elizabeth said lightly, as if commenting on the weather, “I still don’t understand why you didn’t pursue something more… sustainable.”

Emily didn’t look up. “Define sustainable.”

“Something with long-term vision,” Elizabeth continued, resting her fork on the edge of her plate. “Something that builds toward something greater. The Bureau is fine for now, I suppose, but don’t you ever think about the future?”

You glanced toward Emily, watching her expression flatten just a little more. She drank again, deeper this time, before placing her glass down too carefully.

“She is thinking about the future,” you said, tone calm. “She’s doing something that matters.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. I didn’t mean to belittle what she’s doing. I just worry sometimes. There’s no real longevity in chasing serial killers.”

Emily’s fork hit her plate a little harder than necessary.

Elizabeth’s tone didn’t change. “But I had always hoped for more stability. Prestige. And I did try to give you every advantage. Boarding schools, language programs, summer internships with real potential. I thought I was opening doors, not watching you walk right past them.”

Emily set her wine glass down with deliberate care.

“You did open doors,” she said, voice clipped. “I just didn’t want what was behind them.”

Elizabeth turned her attention back to her plate, cutting another precise bite, then dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

You held your fork a little too tightly, trying not to react. It wasn’t your place, not here. Not now. Emily hadn’t asked you to bite your tongue, but you could feel the ask in the set of her shoulders, in the calm she was forcing herself to wear like armour. So you stayed silent, even as the urge to defend her curled hot in your chest.

Elizabeth went on. “You know, I still get asked about you. People wonder what you’ve been doing with yourself. They remember your potential. That time you spoke at the youth diplomacy summit, people were certain you’d end up in Geneva or Strasbourg, maybe even the UN.”

Emily gave a dry smile, no amusement in it. “I guess I disappointed a lot of people.”

Her mother didn’t deny it. “Well. There’s still time.”

Emily reached for her wine again, the movement slow, measured. She didn’t drink this time. Just held the glass.

Elizabeth looked at her daughter as though she were something to be gently corrected, not understood. “You were meant for more than this.”

Emily’s voice was quiet. “Maybe this is more.”

Elizabeth didn’t speak, but her silence echoed louder than any dismissal.

Elizabeth lifted her wine glass again, studying the colour with polite interest, then took a slow sip. She hadn't touched most of her food, but that didn’t seem to matter. The meal was theatre, not sustenance. A stage, like the furniture and the lighting and the immaculate arrangement of the table.

“You were always too quick to run from discomfort,” she said after a moment, her gaze still directed at Emily. “Never liked criticism. You’ve always called it pressure, but that’s such a dramatic word, don’t you think? I gave you opportunity. Structure. The kind of environment where excellence could flourish.”

Across the table, Emily sat with her fingers loosely curled around the stem of her glass. She wasn’t drinking anymore. Just holding it, like a weight she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to put down or throw. Her expression hadn’t changed, not really, but there was something brittle in it now. A crack under the surface.

Elizabeth set her glass down. “Other children would have been grateful. Most parents don’t know how to navigate diplomatic circles or secure elite internships for their daughters before they’re even out of school.”

You didn’t speak. You could feel the way Emily had gone still across from you, the silence she was holding like a shield. It wasn’t your place to break it, not yet.

“I gave you everything,” Elizabeth continued, as if speaking to herself, though her voice was deliberately pitched to carry. “And somehow you always managed to choose exactly the wrong thing.”

Emily’s voice came then, low and careful. “Wrong by your standards.”

Elizabeth’s expression didn’t shift. “My standards aren’t arbitrary, Emily. They’re based on results. On outcomes. And I’m sorry, but I fail to see how sprinting after violent men across the country for barely passable federal pay qualifies as a sound return on investment.”

“Then stop thinking of me as one,” Emily said, her voice sharp now, the words precise.

Elizabeth blinked once, slowly. “You’re being emotional.”

“I wonder why,” Emily said flatly.

There was another silence. One of many that had stretched across the table since the night began. But this one was heavier. Elizabeth’s knife moved against her plate with soft precision, rearranging rather than eating. She brought her napkin to her lips, dabbed once, then folded it again in her lap.

“You always had an eye for chaos,” she said lightly. “Even as a girl. You were drawn to it. You liked mess, like it proved something. Even your friends. There was always someone troubled. Someone in need of saving. I assumed you would grow out of it eventually.”

Emily didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

Elizabeth looked across the table at her daughter, then at you. “But now you’ve built a life around it. You must be tired. All that travel. All that emotional residue. It’s a job that ages you quickly.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. Her hand flexed around the glass.

“I mean, really,” Elizabeth went on, tone smooth and unbothered. “You’re not getting any younger. These are the years where you should be consolidating, not chasing. Do you even think about what comes next?”

“Constantly,” Emily replied, clipped and firm.

“Then perhaps it’s time to make some adjustments,” Elizabeth said, sitting straighter. “I don’t mean to imply that you’ve wasted your time. But you haven’t exactly positioned yourself well. No lasting relationship, no children, a job that doesn’t translate into anything beyond fieldwork…”

Her glance toward you was brief. Not cruel, just clinical. Observing rather than attacking.

You saw the way Emily’s throat moved as she swallowed hard, still not drinking from the glass she held.

“I have a partner,” she said, so quietly it almost didn’t register as defiant.

Elizabeth gave a faint smile, too polished to be kind. “For now.”

Her tone carried the kind of passive dismissal that didn’t require correction. The implication was clear. You weren’t real. Not in the terms Elizabeth had defined as acceptable.

Emily’s chair shifted suddenly, the legs scraping against the floor with a sound too loud in the curated quiet of the room. She stood, pushing the wine glass away as she did. She hadn’t touched her plate. Her posture was sharp, upright, too rigid to be calm.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Emily,” Elizabeth said, feigning surprise, “honestly, this is—”

“A waste of time,” Emily cut in, voice low but clear. “I came here trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe, if I just played along for one night, it would be different. But it’s not. You haven’t changed. You’ll never see anything I do as enough, and I’m tired of trying to make you proud when you’re not capable of being proud of anyone who doesn’t live by your rulebook.”

She moved toward the doorway without looking back.

Elizabeth gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “My god, Emily. Do you ever stop performing? You could at least have the decency to sit through dinner like an adult.”

Emily didn’t respond. The doorframe swallowed her, heels hitting the polished floor with measured, furious steps until they faded into the hall.

Elizabeth turned to you with a cool sort of exhale, shaking her head like this was all some exhausting display. “She’s always had a flair for scenes. One little comment and the whole evening unravels.”

You didn’t stand right away. You met her gaze across the flickering candle light and spoke in a voice that was quiet but crisp. “It wasn’t one little comment. It was a series of calculated insults, framed as concern, dressed up just enough to maintain plausible deniability. But I imagine you’re used to doing that.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression stayed composed. “Excuse me?”

You stood then, slow and unhurried, pushing your chair back with less care than Emily had. “You didn’t want dinner. You wanted confirmation that she still orbits your approval. And when she didn’t, you did what you always do. You punished her for it.”

Elizabeth stared at you, still holding her wine glass. “That’s an unfair interpretation.”

“No,” you said simply. "It's the truth, you've just always counted on others being too polite to point out."

Elizabeth didn’t respond, but the flicker in her eyes said she heard it for exactly what it was.

You stood there a moment longer, the stillness sharpening around you like glass. Every instinct screamed to tear into her, to say everything Emily never got to. But you held it, kept it coiled tight in your chest where it burned clean and cold.

“She’s extraordinary,” you said, each word precise. “Brilliant. Stronger than you’ll ever give her credit for.”

Then, after a breath, quieter, darker:

“And if you can’t see that, that’s not her failure. It’s yours.”

You didn’t wait for her to answer. You just turned and walked out, not bothering to shut the door gently behind you. Letting the silence speak for everything you didn’t say.

The car was dark except for the soft glow of the dashboard, and Emily hadn’t said a word since pulling out of the driveway. Her grip on the wheel hadn’t loosened, her posture too straight, like she hadn’t let herself exhale yet. You didn’t try to fill the silence. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw kept tightening and loosening, how her eyes stayed fixed ahead but weren’t really focused on the road. She was somewhere else entirely, playing every second of the evening back through a filter of self-doubt and barely buried resentment. You knew she was tearing herself apart from the inside, turning her mother’s words over again and again, wondering if she should’ve said more or less or nothing at all. But you also knew she didn’t want to talk. Not yet. She just wanted to drive, to put space between herself and that house, and maybe to sit with someone who wouldn’t ask her to explain why. So you sat there beside her, quiet, solid, and close, letting the silence do what it needed to.

Emily dropped her keys into the bowl by the door like they weighed more than they should. She didn't say anything, just moved through the space like someone performing muscle memory. Shoes off, coat hung, lights flicked on with fingers that trembled just slightly before steadying. She didn’t look at you once. Not because she was upset with you. Just the opposite. She was trying too hard not to fall apart.

She moved to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, stared into it like something inside might offer her a script. When nothing did, she closed it again. The fridge was next, the door hanging open for a long moment as she stood there with one hand on the handle and the other pressed flat to the counter like she needed grounding. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t want anything in there. She just didn’t know what to do with herself.

You stayed in the doorway, watching the quiet unravelling in real time. Her movements were too careful, her breathing too even, like she was afraid to make a sound that might betray her. You saw the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes didn’t focus on anything, just moved restlessly from one spot to the next, as if trying to outpace whatever was crawling up the back of her mind.

When she finally shut the fridge, her hand lingered against the stainless steel, head bowed slightly. You could see it. The tight coil in her spine, the way she was holding herself so still it ached to look at. The silence stretched on.

She needed something. She wouldn’t ask. She never did. There was too much pride in her, too many years of being taught that needing was weakness. But she was exhausted, pulled thin, the weight of the night pressing down on her with nowhere to go.

So you stepped forward without a word. Closed the distance slowly, deliberately, until you were just behind her.

You didn’t touch her right away.

She was still standing there with her back to you, one hand pressed to the fridge door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her shoulders were rigid, arms locked in that military-trained kind of stillness, the kind that tried too hard to look in control. But you knew better. You saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the small falter in her breath. The way she hadn’t said a word since unlocking the door. She wasn’t standing still because she was composed. She was standing still because she was barely holding together.

“Close the fridge,” you said quietly.

There was a pause, just a second too long. But then she did, without a word.

“Turn around.”

This time, she hesitated. You could feel the pride dragging at her, the instinct to resist, to prove she didn’t need anything from anyone. But her body betrayed her. She shifted, slow and stiff, until she was facing you, her hands now crossed in front of her like a shield.

You stepped closer, slow and measured. Your voice stayed calm. Grounded. The opposite of how she was feeling.

“Put your hands on the counter.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours for the first time. Something sharp and defensive moved behind them, but underneath it was what you’d been waiting for. That flicker of want. Not desire. Not yet. Just the aching need to not be in charge for once. The need to stop thinking.

She opened her mouth like she might object. Like she might joke it off or pretend she was fine. But she didn’t say anything. Just turned and placed both hands on the counter, fingers spreading slightly over the cool surface.

You came up behind her, close but not touching.

“Stay there,” you said.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t try to regain control. And that silence from her, so rare and so loaded, told you everything you needed to know.

She was ready. She needed this. Even if she’d never ask for it.

You watched her shoulders rise with a breath she didn’t seem to notice taking. She was holding tension everywhere, even in the way her hands pressed into the counter. Like she was bracing herself against something unnamed.

You stepped in behind her and let your palm skim slowly up her spine, not soft, not teasing. Just steady. Her body gave the faintest response, a shift in weight, a flicker of something deeper grounding into her heels.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, voice low and even. “Exactly like that.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but the way her hands settled told you she heard it. The way her breath caught at the top before sliding out again. You trailed your fingers back down, slow, ending at her hips, then tightened your grip just enough to anchor her there.

“Don’t move unless I tell you.”

A pause. Then, a barely-there whisper. “Okay.”

It wasn’t surrender, not yet. But it wasn’t resistance either. You could feel her pulling inward, slipping out of her head by inches, letting your words do the thinking for her.

You leaned in, mouth at the curve where her neck met her shoulder, not kissing her, just letting her feel your breath.

“Take off your shirt.”

Her hands moved. Not perfectly. One caught on the hem, like her body was still catching up to the instruction. But she got there, arms lifting, the fabric peeling away. You waited, letting the silence stretch until she was still again, bare and quiet in front of you.

You ran a hand up her arm, over the muscle, the tension, the effort she didn’t know she was making just to stay still.

“Good,” you murmured, and her fingers curled slightly against the counter. That one word did more than anything else.

You reached up and gathered her hair loosely in your hand, not pulling, just holding.

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” you said, voice calm, certain.

Another breath from her, this one slower. She nodded.

“No,” you said gently, “use your words.”

“…Yes.”

You smiled. Not smug. Just sure.

“Good girl.”

You saw it in the way her shoulders softened, the barest shift in her weight. That phrase wrapped around her like something she hadn’t realized she missed until it landed. It stripped a layer of defence clean off her.

Her breathing was deeper now, but not rushed. She wasn’t waiting for pleasure. She was waiting for direction. For purpose. For the next instruction that would let her be useful. That would give her something she could get right.

You let your hand move down, smoothing over the curve of her ass, not teasing, not testing, just reminding her that you were here. That she wasn’t carrying herself alone anymore.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, and her fingers curled again against the counter. A soft shiver passed through her.

You leaned in, not touching with your body, just letting your mouth brush the edge of her ear. “Tell me you’re ready.”

A pause. One breath. Then, quietly, “I’m ready.”

You didn’t answer right away. You stepped in behind her instead, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed hers without contact. Her breathing had gone shallow again, ribcage shifting in small, measured pulls. You let your hands trail up the curve of her back, over her shoulder blades, fingers tracing the straps of her bra. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, but you felt the smallest tremble run under her skin. Not fear. Restraint.

You reached for the clasp.

It came undone with a soft click, the straps loosening at once. You didn’t pull them away right away. Let them linger, trailing down the backs of her arms until they slipped free and dropped to the floor without a sound.

“Drop it.”

She let it fall from her hands. You watched it hit the tile beside her feet, a soft little heap of fabric.

You didn’t speak. Just laid your palms on her now-bare back, dragging them down the length of her spine. She was so warm. All soft skin and carved tension. Your fingers traced the line of her ribs, the curve of her waist. She wasn’t breathing deeply anymore. Just short, stilling inhales, like anything more would draw too much attention to herself.

You palmed over her hipbones, thumbs brushing the tender skin there, then smoothed down again, barely grazing the backs of her thighs.

You didn’t tell her she looked beautiful. Didn’t need to.

Every second of stillness from her, every quiet shiver and obedient shift, told you she knew she was being seen. Known. Claimed.

“Skirt next.”

She moved immediately. No hesitation. Hooked her thumbs into the waistband and eased the fabric down her hips, past the swell of her ass, over her thighs. You stayed quiet, watching her hands. She stepped out of it slowly, folding just slightly to keep her balance. The way she moved told you everything—how deeply she was inside herself now, how focused. No pretense. No attempt to pose. Just bare skin and compliance.

Then came the last piece.

She didn’t wait for the instruction this time. Just reached for the band of her underwear and drew them down too, letting them slide all the way to her ankles. Another careful step out. She was fully nude now. Not posed. Not guarded. Just standing there in your kitchen, spine straight, hands loose at her sides.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at her. Her bare back, the curve of her thighs, the little dip at the base of her spine, all held under the quietest thread of tension. She was trembling again. Not from cold. From restraint. From being seen this way, this fully. From being allowed nothing to hide behind.

“Perfect.”

She let out a breath, long and quiet. Like that one word had pulled something loose.

You stepped in again and laid your hands on her hips. Ran your palms slowly over her ass, down the backs of her thighs, then back up again, slower. The weight of your hands was steady, deliberate, not teasing, not tentative. She didn’t make a sound, but her body shifted under your touch. Like she was trying not to lean into it too hard. Like she didn’t trust her own restraint.

“Bend.”

Her hands came up, planting firmly on the counter. She leaned forward, folding at the waist with that quiet, composed grace she carried even now. Her hair slid over one shoulder, baring the long line of her back. Her ass was exposed fully now, parted slightly from the way she was standing. Vulnerable. Waiting. Her weight settled into her heels again, body straining to hold still.

You watched her a moment longer. Then you brought your hands back, running your fingers over the full, bare curve of her again. You cupped her. Squeezed. Felt the tension spike, then fade. You gave her one short, firm smack on the side and felt the way she tensed, then let go.

“Good girl.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just took it.

You stepped back, slowly, peeling your own clothes off one by one. Not rushed. Not showy. The rustle of fabric, the soft drag of it against your skin, the shift of your weight on the tile. You let the silence build again. Let her feel it. Let her stew in it, naked and still and waiting.

You let her wait like that. Bent, silent, exposed. Her breath had settled into something slower, deeper. Not quite relaxed, but muted. Stripped down. Every part of her still, held there by choice.

“Kneel.”

The word dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water.

She moved without question. Hands left the counter. She lowered herself with that same controlled elegance, her knees touching the tile, bare and unprotected. Her back straightened as she settled, arms loose at her sides, her chin tilted just enough to suggest pride that hadn’t fully left her yet. But everything else had quieted.

You stepped forward, filling the space where she’d stood. You climbed up onto the edge of the counter, right where her palms had pressed down moments ago. The surface was faintly warm. She’d left part of herself there.

Your knees parted slightly in front of her. She didn’t look up. Just stayed perfectly still, bare skin flushed, breathing soft and even, the tile beneath her knees unforgiving. The pose was simple, but nothing about her looked casual. Her body was a held breath.

You reached down and touched her face, brushing your thumb lightly across her cheekbone, then over the slope of her jaw. She leaned into it, just slightly.

“Perfect,” you said.

You let your fingers trail down from her cheek to her chin. Tilted her face up, just enough to bring her focus where it belonged. Her lips were parted, breath warm against your skin, eyes lowered like she already knew what was coming.

You held her there for a moment, not forceful, just firm.

“Use your mouth.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands stayed right where they were, resting on her thighs, steady and obedient. Her mouth moved first, lips brushing against the inside of your knee in a kiss so soft you almost wouldn’t have felt it if you weren’t watching her. Then another. Higher. She mapped a path up your inner thigh, her pace slow but deliberate, reverent in the way she offered herself.

You didn’t move. You let her work for it. Let her earn every inch.

When she reached the heat of you, she paused. Not from doubt, not from nerves. Just a breath, a single beat before she gave herself over fully. Then her mouth opened, tongue sliding between your folds, gentle and sure, like she already knew exactly how to take you apart.

You inhaled through your nose, fingers finding her hair without pulling. She moaned softly the moment you touched her, the sound vibrating straight through you. But her hands didn’t move. She kept them still, exactly where you’d left them, needing no more instruction than what your voice had already given.

She licked you again, slower this time, like she wanted to feel every part of you against her tongue. Her breath came fast now, warm against your skin, but her rhythm didn’t falter. She chased your taste with something close to hunger, her mouth messy, greedy, but careful too, like she knew just how much pressure to give.

You parted your knees a little wider. That was all it took. She leaned in closer, tongue flattening against you, dragging slow and deep from the bottom up. Her lips closed around your clit at the top, suckling gently, then harder, just once, before pulling back and starting over.

“You're doing so well,” you murmured, fingers sliding a little deeper into her hair.

Her whole body responded. A slight shiver ran through her, her back straightening just a touch, like your praise had pulled something from her spine. She made a sound then, low and aching, buried against your cunt. Her hips rocked subtly where she knelt, but still, her hands didn’t move.

“Keep going,” you said.

She obeyed instantly, mouth wet and eager, licking you like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Her cheeks were flushed, her face slick, her tongue tireless. You felt her moan again, and this time she pressed in deeper, the angle firmer, her nose nudging your pubic hair as she mouthed at you like she couldn’t get close enough.

She wasn’t trying to be good for the sake of it. She needed to be. Needed to make you come, needed to feel it, needed to hear you say she’d done it right. Everything about her body said so. The way her mouth worked harder each time you let your breath catch, the way her fingers curled slightly against her thighs, fighting the urge to touch you.

But she didn’t.

She stayed still, devoted and desperate and waiting for your permission, even as she lost herself between your thighs.

You could feel everything.

Every flick of her tongue sent sparks running up your spine, sharp at first, then melting into something warm and unbearable. The deeper she pressed, the more the heat in your belly tightened, thick and slow and crawling outward like molasses. Her mouth was relentless. She moved like she was memorizing you, like she needed to earn every sound you made with the drag of her tongue and the soft pull of her lips.

Your thighs trembled a little where they framed her shoulders. Not from weakness, not yet. From the steady build of it. The pressure she worked up in you was precise and consuming. It didn’t peak all at once. It climbed. Grew. It curled through you in waves that made you press your heels tighter against the counter, needing to stay grounded.

She circled your clit with her tongue, slow and unhurried, again and again until your hips started to roll against her mouth, small and instinctive. She didn’t change her pace. She kept licking you like that was exactly what she’d wanted. Like she’d drawn it out of you on purpose. Her tongue flattened, then lifted, then flattened again, always returning to the same rhythm, the same spot, until the ache between your legs deepened into something slick and hot and endless.

You let your head tip back as your fingers curled tighter in her hair.

“Just like that,” you said, voice rough with it now. “Don’t stop.”

Her moan was immediate, hungry and eager, the vibrations pressed right up against you. She was chasing it too. Not her own pleasure—yours. The way she licked you, the way she sucked your clit back into her mouth and rolled her tongue over it like she wanted to wring it out of you, it was all for that.

The pressure inside you twisted, sharp and deep. Your stomach clenched, hips rocking into her mouth now without hesitation. You could feel how soaked you were, how slick her chin must be, how messy you’d made her, and she didn’t care. She wanted it. She stayed buried in you, lips parted and mouth open, drinking it in like she was desperate to taste every part of you.

You gasped, quiet but broken. The coil inside you pulled tighter, so tight it was starting to burn. Her pace stayed steady, exactly the same rhythm, exactly where you needed it, like she’d found the perfect way to unravel you and was clinging to it.

Your thighs twitched. Your breath caught.

Then you said her name, low and wrecked, and everything inside you started to give way.

Your hips jerked forward into her mouth, your grip tightening in her hair. The pressure inside you didn’t unravel slowly. It tore itself loose, raw and overwhelming, dragging your body with it. Your moan came sharp and low, punched out of your chest before you could catch it. Your thighs tensed, your stomach clenched, every nerve burning through the release.

And Emily didn’t stop.

She kept going just as you’d told her. Her mouth stayed locked to you, her tongue working you through it without pause or hesitation. There was no flicker of thought behind it. No hesitation. She was just doing what she was told. Completely focused. Completely yours.

The sensation stayed sharp. Wet, tender, almost too much. Your legs trembled. Your back arched. Pleasure kept pulsing through you in smaller, broken waves that left you open and twitching and soaked against her mouth. You could feel everything. Her breath. The texture of her tongue. The soft, persistent suction she never once let up.

She was still on her knees, still upright, her face buried between your legs with no concern for anything else. She didn’t need to know if she was doing it right. You’d already told her she's a good girl.

So she kept going.

Your body jerked again, sensitivity rising high into something sharp. You didn’t pull her back. She didn’t slow down. You clenched around nothing, stomach tightening again, breath caught and stuttering. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You looked down at her, hair mussed from your grip, jaw moving in steady rhythm, eyes half-closed and unfocused.

Still chasing your pleasure. Still waiting to be told what to do.

You swallowed, hand resting heavy in her hair.

“Stop.”

You kept your hand in her hair for a moment longer, fingers gently threaded through the strands, holding her close not because you needed to, but because you didn’t want to let go of the warmth still radiating from her skin. Her mouth was soft and wet, lips swollen, her breath ghosting over your thighs in shallow little exhales that made it clear just how hard she’d been working to please you. Her obedience wasn’t stiff or hesitant. It was molten. Pure heat pressed into shape.

“Good girl,” you said, voice thick with satisfaction.

Her whole body shuddered like the words struck something deep in her. She didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. She stayed where she was, perfectly still, perfectly quiet, like she was waiting for whatever came next, like that praise was enough to keep her right there on her knees.

You slid off the counter slowly, letting your feet find the tile, your muscles humming from the release she’d pulled out of you. You were still warm between your thighs, still sensitive, still open from the way her mouth had ruined you, and the moment your eyes dropped to the floor in front of her, your breath caught.

There, between her knees, were small droplets of slick catching the light. Not a mess, not a flood, just distinct beads of arousal, slipping down her inner thighs and falling to the floor beneath her. Her cunt was wet, impossibly so, her pubic hair damp and tangled, glistening with it. No part of her was hiding it. She wasn’t even trying. Her thighs were glossy with the evidence of how desperately turned on she was, how much obeying you had affected her. Her folds were flushed and visibly pulsing, slick still gathering there before another drop slid free and joined the rest.

You moaned without thinking, the sound low and wrecked. The sight of her like that—kneeling, completely exposed, dripping from being so good for you—sent another wave of heat rushing through you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mess between her legs, from the shine of her skin, from the way her pubic hair was wet and dark with arousal, her need painted all over her in a way that felt obscene and perfect.

“God, Emily,” you breathed, your hand tightening in her hair again. “Look at you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t reach for anything, didn’t even shift her weight. She just stayed exactly where you’d left her, soaked and waiting, ready for your next command.

You reached for her, hands slipping beneath her arms, and pulled her up in one unhesitating motion. Her body followed without resistance, pliant, bare skin pressed to yours. She barely had time to find her footing before your mouth was on hers, rough and claiming, nothing delicate about it. Your hand gripped her jaw, holding her steady as you kissed her hard, lips parting hers, your tongue pushing deep, demanding everything she had left.

She moaned into your mouth, body arching into yours, caught in it. You didn’t let her settle. Your hands slid down her sides, over the curves of her waist and hips, firm and grounding, keeping her close as you started walking her back, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“You’re going to be good for me,” you said against her lips, barely pulling away between kisses.

“Yes,” she whispered, breath shaky.

You pushed her another step, then another, until her back hit the doorframe. You kissed her again, slower this time but no gentler, your hands exploring every inch you could reach. Her body trembled under yours, heat radiating off her in waves.

Every step made her thighs brush, made more slick trail down. You could hear it, faint and obscene. It only pushed you further.

She hit the doorframe and you didn’t stop. Your mouth stayed on hers, wet and deep, your tongue claiming every inch she offered. She kissed back like she didn’t care if she could breathe, like she was chasing whatever you gave her without thinking, just pure obedience strung tight around hunger.

Your hands didn’t leave her body. You pushed her back again and again, walking her into the room, her bare skin catching the faintest chill in the air but never pulling away from you. She moved only when you did, letting you guide her, control her, press her exactly where you wanted her.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

Her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and you didn’t give her time to catch her breath. You bent, hands sliding under her legs, lifting her with a firm grip at the backs of her thighs. Her arms flew up to brace around your shoulders, more reflex than thought, as you hoisted her up and laid her back onto the bed.

She landed softly, hair spread out over the sheets, skin flushed and marked from your mouth. Her legs stayed parted where you'd placed them, knees falling open with ease. You climbed up after her, mouth finding hers again in a hungry tangle, tongues slick, lips catching, your body stretched over hers.

Your hands roamed, palms dragging up over the sides of her ribs, fingers sweeping the curves of her waist. Her skin was hot to the touch, damp where your mouth had already been, thighs sticky where you'd felt her dripping against you. You let one hand slide lower, down the length of her stomach, dragging slow until it found the heat between her legs.

She moaned into your mouth and you swallowed it, deepening the kiss, fingers sliding through the wet mess below as your hips pressed flush to hers. Her body arched but she didn’t move away, didn’t reach for more, just lay there open, breath stuttering against your lips as you kept kissing her like you couldn’t get enough.

You shifted your weight, settling between her thighs. Her legs were already open, but you wanted more. You hooked your hands behind her knees and pulled them up, spreading her wider, guiding her exactly how you wanted her. Her breath caught as you adjusted her, her body pliant under your touch.

You kept her like that, hands gripping behind her thighs to hold her open, and lowered yourself until your hips pressed flush to hers. The first grind sent a jolt through both of you, wet heat meeting wet heat, slick against slick. Your breath caught, and hers broke into a quiet, gasping sound that barely reached your ears before you moved again.

You rocked into her, slow and deliberate, your cunt dragging over hers with each press of your hips. It was messy, hot, everything slippery and flushed, and you could feel how soaked she was, how easily you both slid together.

Emily’s thighs trembled under your grip, but she held position, just like you’d placed her. Her fingers dug into the sheets beside her, gripping tight, trying not to move even as her hips twitched with every grind of your body against hers. She was soaked, hot, the slick glide of her cunt against yours making it impossible not to gasp.

You pressed in harder, the friction more intense now, your clit catching on hers just right. Emily cried out, her breath ragged, but she didn’t shift out of place. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the sheets, muscles tensed like it was taking everything in her not to thrust up and meet you.

“You’re doing so well,” you breathed, your voice low as you moved against her again, slower this time, dragging it out. “Just like that. Let me use you.”

Her head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open in a moan. Her hips jerked up before she could stop herself, a desperate little stutter, and then she froze, chest rising in a sharp breath as she forced herself still again. You watched it all, every ripple of restraint across her body.

“You want to move,” you said, voice warm and wrecked, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she panted, eyes fluttering open, pleading without words.

“But you won’t.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be good. I promise.”

You leaned in, kissed her again, deep and filthy, grinding your cunt against hers harder this time, wet and messy and perfect. Her moan vibrated against your mouth, her body straining underneath you without ever breaking the rules you set. It was obedience wrapped in need, discipline soaked in desire. And every second of it made you ache for more.

You didn’t slow down. The steady grind of your cunt against hers stayed just as deliberate, just as wet, each slick pass dragging another moan from her throat. Her body stayed where you’d left it, thighs spread, arms taut at her sides, shaking with restraint.

You sat up slightly, just enough to get your hands on her chest. Your palms slid over her breasts, thumbs brushing slowly over her nipples. They were already hard, begging for attention, and the second you touched them, Emily whimpered, her fingers clutching the sheets tighter.

You rolled one nipple between your fingers, firm but careful, then leaned down to kiss the other, mouthing at it while your hips kept moving. She gasped beneath you, hips twitching again, caught between staying still and the instinct to move with you.

Her moans were getting higher, less controlled, like each pass of your cunt against hers was chipping away at what little she had left. You dragged your tongue over her breast, then bit lightly, just enough to make her cry out. Your hands were everywhere now, squeezing, playing, pressing her deeper into the bed with every grind of your hips.

“That’s it,” you said against her skin, voice low, breath hot. “Take it. Let me feel how good you are.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her body arched, but still she didn’t lift her hips. She just lay there, trembling, breathing hard, slick coating both of you, overwhelmed and obedient and desperate to be good.

You ran your hands over her slowly, palms gliding over the smooth expanse of her body, taking in every detail. Her skin was pale and impossibly soft, like it hadn’t been touched enough, like it had been waiting just for this. Every place your fingers passed left a faint warmth behind, but it was your mouth that truly marked her. You leaned in and kissed the swell of her breast, then scraped your teeth over it, and when she whimpered beneath you, you bit down hard enough to leave a deep flush in your wake.

The red stood out starkly against her skin, heat blooming under your tongue. You moved lower and left another. Then another. Along her ribs, her hip, the side of her stomach. You were deliberate about it, kissing first, then biting just enough to make her gasp, not cruel but undeniable, painting her with your mouth until she was dotted with proof of how much she belonged to you.

Her breath hitched every time your teeth caught. Her hands clung to your shoulders, to your arms, to anything she could reach without breaking the position you'd put her in. You felt her trying to stay still, trying to obey, her thighs trembling just slightly under yours as you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, grinding against her. Her slick was everywhere now, hot and wet and messy between you, and still she didn't chase, didn't take, just waited for whatever you gave her.

You brushed your fingers down her side, over the curve of her waist, and watched goosebumps follow in your wake. Then you leaned back just enough to take in the sight of her laid out beneath you, flushed and panting and covered in the marks you’d left behind.

“Look at you,” you said softly. “All mine.”

Emily let out a soft, desperate sound at your words, her fingers tightening against your back like she needed to hold onto something solid. Her hips rocked up instinctively, trying to follow the rhythm of your body, though she caught herself before she gave in too much. The restraint made you smile.

“Yours,” she gasped, the word slipping out between moans. “I’m yours.”

You ground down harder in response, catching the perfect drag of her soaked cunt against yours. The friction was hot and messy and perfect, every grind sending sharp bursts of pleasure through you both. Her head fell back against the mattress, exposing the long line of her throat, flushed and trembling.

You leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time but just as deep. She opened for you instantly, moaning into your mouth, her hands sliding up to your shoulders, then back down your sides, clutching, needing. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab your hips, wanted to pull you in and fuck up into you, but she didn’t. She kept her hands where they were, obedient even now.

You felt how close she was. Her whole body was straining for more, her thighs twitching with every roll of your hips, her breath stuttering every time you pressed in just right. And still she waited for you to give the signal, every part of her pleading without a word.

“Good girl,” you whispered into her ear, voice rough with need. “Keep taking it just like that.”

Emily was a mess beneath you, flushed and trembling, her skin damp with sweat and hot to the touch. Her fingers gripped the sheets in tight, shaking fists, knuckles white from the effort of keeping them in place. You rocked against her slowly, keeping the rhythm steady, dragging your pussy over hers in long, wet strokes. Her breath caught every time your clits aligned, hips jolting like she could barely stop herself from chasing more.

You cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, watching her back arch and her head tip into the pillows. Her thighs twitched around your hips. She whimpered, the sound high and helpless.

“Don’t move,” you reminded her, voice low.

She nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “I won’t. I won’t. I’ll stay still.”

Her voice was ragged, words trembling with effort, like every part of her was focused on obeying. She moaned again, louder this time, unable to stop it, her thighs slick where they pressed against yours. Her body gave everything away—how close she was, how badly she wanted more—but she didn’t beg. Didn’t buck up into you. Just lay there trembling, panting, trying so hard to be exactly what you wanted.

“Perfect for me,” you murmured, letting your fingers roll her nipples between them, watching the way her face twisted with pleasure.

That praise broke something loose in her. She cried out softly, hips flinching, her whole body straining for more. Her moans kept coming, louder now, raw and needy, each one punched out with every grind of your hips.

She didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t beg to come. She just stayed obedient, stayed open, and let you use her the way she was meant to be used.

You held her steady, firm grip on her thighs keeping her wide and open beneath you. Your hips moved with purpose, every grind deliberate and deep, your slick catching against hers in hot, soaked friction. Her skin was flushed everywhere you touched, her body pulled so taut you could feel the tremble in her legs with every press.

Emily was falling apart under you. She tried to hold herself still, tried not to buck up and chase it, but her body betrayed her with every breath. Her grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your back, anchoring herself to the one thing she couldn't ask more from. Every time you circled your hips down, her mouth opened in another moan, louder than the last, desperate and sweet.

You could see her trying. Her thighs flexed, her abdomen shuddered with the effort it took not to fuck herself up into you. She was panting now, sweat at her temples, lashes damp as her head tipped back against the pillows. “Please,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “Please, I— I need to—”

You didn’t give her the permission she thought she needed. You just kept grinding down, kept your rhythm steady, made her feel every second of it. “You can come,” you finally said, voice low and rough, right into her ear. “Be messy for me. Let me feel all of it.”

And she broke.

It ripped through her with no elegance, no composure. Her whole body arched up into yours, thighs tensing in your hands, cunt clenching hard as she cried out, loud and raw. It echoed in the room, her voice shaking with it, nothing held back anymore. Her hips jerked uncontrollably, dragging herself against you even as you kept her pinned, making her ride the wave to its edge.

She sobbed your name, not from pain but from sheer relief. Her breath came fast, catching on the sound of her own release, thighs slick and trembling, her face flushed to her chest. Her orgasm came in waves, one after the other, body wracked with it, overwhelmed by how much she’d held back until now.

You stayed with her, grinding slower, dragging her through the aftershocks, feeling every twitch of her cunt against yours. Her nails raked blindly across your back, and then her hands fisted in the sheets, clinging to anything she could. You kissed her shoulder, her throat, the corner of her jaw. You gave her your voice again.

“There you go,” you whispered against her skin. “So good. So perfect like this.”

Her mouth parted, lips trembling with the afterglow. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but she turned her head just enough to chase your mouth. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you…”

You smiled, still holding her thighs, still feeling her pulse under your touch.

“Anything for you, sweet girl” you murmured.

She was still trembling under you, her thighs twitching where your hands held them apart. Her body had gone soft and shaky, but her eyes stayed on you, glassy and reverent, mouth parted like she didn’t know how to close it again.

You didn’t stop.

Your hips kept moving, slick grinding into hers, dragging every aftershock out of her and using it for your own. She was so wet beneath you, swollen and sensitive, but she let you take what you needed. Gave you everything, again and again.

The tension in your own body had been building for so long, you hardly recognized it anymore. Your thighs were tight, muscles burning as you rocked down onto her, chasing friction, chasing release. Her skin was still hot, her breasts rising against your chest, her breath catching with every pass of your cunt over hers.

You could feel the heat coil, sharp and low. The sounds of her soft moans, still fucked out but eager, pushed you closer. Her praise. Her obedience. Her eyes on you like you were the only thing she needed. All of it built under your skin like pressure that had nowhere left to go.

Your rhythm broke for a moment, hips stuttering as the first wave caught you. A sharp gasp slipped from your mouth. Then your body locked up, muscles clenching tight as it ripped through you, sudden and overwhelming. You buried your face in her neck, moaning against her skin as your orgasm crashed down.

It hit hard, grinding slow and deep against her as you came, cunt pulsing where it met hers, slick mixing and smearing between your bodies. You barely registered the way your nails dug into her thighs or how your back arched so hard it nearly lifted you off her. You just felt.

Emily held on. Arms wrapped around you now, fingertips pressing into your back, her mouth moving in soft, breathless encouragement that you could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears. You rode it out against her, grinding through every wave, until your body finally eased, your hips slowing, your breath catching in your throat.

You were still trembling when you sank down into her, completely spent.

You pressed a kiss to the damp curve of her shoulder. Took one breath, then another. Let your hand trail up her side, over the sharp edge of her ribcage, until your palm rested above her heart.

"You were so good for me," you murmured, your voice low and still wrecked from your own release. You lifted your head just enough to look at her. Her eyes were wide, glassy with arousal, her lips parted. You smiled, slow and fond. "You’ve earned a reward."

That made her swallow hard. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, like she couldn’t trust her voice.

You kissed her again, softer this time, and then began easing her back onto the mattress. Your hands never left her. You guided her down until she was laid out beneath you, limbs open and pliant, chest rising fast. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to her temples.

You trailed kisses down her throat, then lower, your mouth catching the edge of a fading bruise above her collarbone. You felt her shiver. Her thighs shifted, restless, already anticipating.

"Stay still," you said, barely above a whisper.

She did.

You kissed the valley between her breasts. Mouthed at the softness of one, then the other, your hands sliding down to hold her waist steady. You could feel how tightly she was holding herself together. Not from tension. From need. From wanting so badly to be good, to take everything you gave her and show you how much it meant.

You smiled against her skin and kissed your way lower.

"I'm going to take my time with you," you said, voice warm. "You deserve that."

You kissed her one last time, then pushed up, trailing your hands down her sides as you moved. She stayed as she was, legs still parted, hair a mess around her flushed face, her body damp with sweat and slick. She looked completely undone.

You shifted lower, moving down between her thighs, kissing a slow path down the centre of her body. Her stomach tensed under your mouth, a soft sound slipping from her as you got lower. She didn’t even try to hide it. You watched her chest rise with each breath, watched the way her hands curled into the sheets like she was holding herself together by a thread.

When you reached the curve of her hip, you slowed further. You let your lips graze over the soft skin there, let your nose brush through the damp, messy curls that covered her. Her pubic hair was still slick, glistening faintly under the low light, darkened in places where your grind had left her soaked. It wasn’t neat anymore, wasn’t styled or groomed into anything tidy. It was raw and real, the way it should be—sticky and wild from how worked up she was, from how hard you’d both gone.

You moaned softly at the sight, the scent, the sheer heat of her. She twitched, her hips barely lifting off the bed like her body was still chasing more.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice dark with hunger. “Messy and wet. All for me.”

She whimpered, and your hands moved to her thighs, gently parting them even wider. Her folds were slick, swollen, flushed with arousal, and you didn’t rush. You leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and indulgent, then the other, letting her feel your breath against her without giving her what she craved just yet.

You kissed the crease between her thigh and her cunt, and she whimpered. Her hands fisted the sheets again, her hips twitching just slightly before she stilled herself.

You looked up at her, watched her chest rise in short bursts.

“Keep still for me,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded quickly, eyes wide, mouth parted, completely focused on you.

You brushed your thumbs across the edges of her folds, spreading her slowly. Her slick glistened in the low light, gliding easily over your skin. You bent lower, kissed along the seam of her, then flattened your tongue and licked her fully, slow and deliberate, from bottom to top.

Her cry was instant, high and breathless.

You stayed with it, licking her again and again, never rushing. She tasted rich and hot, her arousal thick on your tongue. Her hips tried to move, but she caught herself, holding still like you’d asked. It made you groan against her.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

You brought one hand higher, fingers pushing gently down on the slick hair over her mound to hold it out of the way while you focused on her clit. The pressure made her moan, hips arching, body straining for more.

You circled her clit slowly with your tongue, letting her feel every careful movement. You sucked it into your mouth, then let go, only to do it again, firmer this time. She gasped, legs shaking around you.

“Please,” she whispered, voice tight. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You locked your arms under her thighs, holding her in place, and worked her steadily with your mouth. The muscles in her stomach fluttered. Her moans turned higher, messier, louder. She was unravelling, coming apart from the inside out, but still trying so hard to stay still.

You pulled back just a fraction, breath brushing her soaked skin. “You’re being perfect for me,” you whispered. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That was all it took. She cried out, a ragged, desperate sound that tore through her as her body seized under your mouth. Her thighs trembled violently, toes curling, and her hips jerked up into your face before falling back down, overwhelmed. You didn’t let go. You stayed with her through all of it, licking her gently as she came, then softer, slower, easing her down when she couldn’t take more. Her body jerked once more under your mouth, a final twitch of overstimulation, before she went utterly still.

You kissed her inner thigh, then again, higher, then trailed your way up the soft planes of her stomach. Her skin was flushed and damp, trembling faintly under each kiss. You moved slowly, taking your time, worshipful even now. She tasted like sweat and the heady sweetness you’d left all over her. You brushed your cheek against the inside of her leg, held it there a second longer, then finally climbed back up over her.

Her scent clung to your skin, her slick drying on your thighs, every inch of her marked by the way you’d taken her apart. You smoothed a hand over her hip, then up her side, anchoring yourself in the quiet rhythm of her body. Her pulse was still racing under her skin, but she didn’t flinch when you settled over her again. She just let you come back to her. Let you hold her close.

Your breath was still uneven, your pulse still loud in your ears, but the moment you felt her body shift beneath yours, you refocused. She was limp but not unconscious, her arms loosely curled at her sides, eyes fluttering open then drifting closed again. Her mouth was parted, lips still kiss-swollen, a flush still high on her cheeks. You didn’t move away right away. You stayed pressed to her, skin against skin, one arm cradling the back of her neck as you murmured against her hair.

“You did so well for me.”

She let out the smallest sound in response, almost a whimper. You kissed her temple.

“I mean it. You were incredible. So good.”

You were both a mess. Sweat clung to your skin. The slick heat between your legs had left a wet sheen against her inner thighs, and your own had started to cool. Her breasts were flushed and marked, love bites standing out against pale skin, and her hair was wild with sweat and motion, sticking to her cheek.

Your hand moved slowly, tracing the damp strands of her hair away from her face. She was still far down, her expression soft, vulnerable, too hazy to form words but still trying to stay connected to you. You could feel her wanting to stay close to something solid, something safe. You kissed her again and gently pulled back, just enough to shift beside her.

You leaned in, kissed her slowly, and whispered, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She blinked up at you with a tiny nod, not yet fully back but still trying. Her hand brushed yours in a quiet plea not to go too far. You kissed her again, slower this time, then slipped from the bed.

The bathroom light was soft and gold. You dampened a fresh cloth with warm water, then another. You added a little soap to the second one and worked it in gently. A clean towel rested over your arm. When you returned, Emily was still lying where you left her, limbs heavy, eyes open but dazed with the edges of subspace.

You climbed onto the bed and leaned over her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve got you.”

She barely nodded. Her skin was flushed and glowing, strands of hair stuck to her temple, chest rising slowly, still marked with love bites and the faint red prints of your hands.

You started with her face. The warm cloth passed gently over her forehead, then her cheeks, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that clung to her skin. She sighed, soft and nearly soundless, and tilted her face into your touch. You traced the cloth under her jaw, along her throat, and down the centre of her chest.

Her skin there was damp too, flushed from exertion, her sternum catching the light. You were slow and careful around her breasts, letting the cloth smooth over the soft curves, tender with the parts you’d grabbed and kissed. Your free hand anchored her, fingers spread low across her ribs as you cleaned her down to her stomach. She breathed deeply through it, like the sensation was easing her back into her body piece by piece.

“There we go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

Only once her upper body was fresh and dry did you shift lower, the other cloth now in your hand. You kissed her thigh first, the soft inner curve, before gently nudging her legs apart.

“You’re alright,” you whispered, cupping the side of her knee. “I’m just going to clean you up now.”

She nodded again, and you moved with quiet care, wiping away the remnants of her release with slow, reverent strokes. Her folds were flushed and sensitive, slick still glistening where it had pooled, her skin tacky with the heat that had passed between you.

She flinched once from the oversensitivity and let out a tiny gasp. You stopped and soothed her with a hand to her hip, then kissed her thigh again.

“You did so well,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She exhaled shakily but didn’t pull away. You resumed with the same slow rhythm, cleaning every inch with warm, steady hands, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her body stayed relaxed, open and trusting.

Once she was clean, you took the towel and patted her dry from her inner thighs upward, then down the line of her hips and legs. You worked with patience, never rushing, never speaking louder than a murmur. You set the towel aside, then wiped your own body down quickly, cleaning away the sweat and slick that clung to your inner thighs, your chest, the curve of your back. Her eyes never left you, even half-lidded and heavy.

When you were done, you returned to her fully and reached out.

“Come here.”

She came into your arms like she belonged there, face buried against your neck, her breath warm where it landed. You pulled the blanket over both of you and cradled her close, hand drifting up and down her back.

“You’re alright,” you whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, one arm slipping around your waist like she couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. Her body was warm, still faintly trembling. You adjusted the blanket higher, tucking it beneath her shoulders, and kept your touch steady, smoothing over her spine in long, even strokes.

Every so often, you whispered something. Simple, grounding things.

“You’re with me.”

“You’re safe.”

“You’re doing so well.”

Each one seemed to sink into her, easing the tension from her shoulders bit by bit. Her breathing started to slow, the edge of her trembling softening. You kissed her temple, then behind her ear, lips barely brushing her skin.

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, her breath warm against your collarbone, one hand gently gripping at your side. Her body was still lax, pliant from the weight of it all, but you could feel the soft flutter of her pulse beginning to steady again. You adjusted the blanket up around her shoulders and rested your cheek against the crown of her head, letting her feel the shape of your breathing.

Neither of you rushed it. There was no need. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of her inhaling against your chest and the occasional shift of the blanket. You kept one hand gliding over her spine, slow and reassuring, the other wrapped securely around her middle.

“You’re alright,” you whispered again, just to anchor her a little more. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

It took a few minutes before you moved. Gently, so gently, you eased her back onto the pillows just enough to slip your arm out from beneath her. Her brow knit slightly, but you murmured, “I’m not going anywhere,” and she stilled again.

You leaned toward the nightstand and opened the lower cabinet. The small stash you kept for times like this was right where you’d left it. A fresh bottle of water, stored there intentionally for when neither of you had the energy to make it to the kitchen. You twisted off the cap and reached for her again, nudging her carefully into the cradle of your arm.

“Here,” you said softly, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Small sips.”

She didn’t resist. Her fingers curled loosely around your wrist and she drank, slow and obedient, her throat moving with each swallow. You watched her closely, brushing a thumb across her temple when she paused for breath.

“There you go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

When she’d had enough, you lowered the bottle and set it back on the nightstand. Her head fell softly against your shoulder. You kissed her hair, lips lingering there as your arms folded back around her.

There was no tension in her body now. Only that slow return to herself. You could feel the shift in her breath each time your hand moved, the way her chest rose more deeply, like she was reclaiming the shape of it. You stayed quiet, letting your presence fill the space she might not know how to ask for.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you whispered, your mouth brushing her hair. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

She shifted, not pulling away, just adjusting, her nose brushing your neck. You didn’t know if she could hear every word. That wasn’t what mattered. You just needed her to feel them, in your voice, in your arms, in the way you kept holding her without expectation.

Your hand came up to her face again, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“You are so much more than enough,” you said quietly. “Exactly like this.”

Her breath hitched, just once. She buried her face further into your skin and you felt the faintest tremor move through her. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t ask if she was alright. You just held her. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing about her needed to be reined in, reshaped, or corrected.

You kissed her forehead once, then again, slower, and pressed your cheek to her hair.

“You should be proud,” you whispered. “You were incredible.”

There was a small, almost inaudible sound in her throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a breath. You closed your eyes and held her through it, your hands steady, your body quiet and present, giving her all the room she needed to come back gently.

“You’re safe,” you said again, your lips close to her ear now. “You’re safe with me.”

Eventually, her breathing settled into something soft and even. Each inhale slower than the last, exhale brushing your collarbone like a secret. She hadn’t let go of you. One arm still curled around your waist, her leg hooked loosely over yours, like if she just stayed close enough, the rest of the world could wait a little longer.

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything left to say, not in words. Just this quiet, unhurried peace between you. You let your palm drift in slow, grounding circles over the middle of her back, tracing the soft line of her spine like it was familiar and sacred both. She felt warm and weightless in your arms, but there was something else there too, something settling under her skin. Not just relief. Something steadier.

When her eyes blinked open again, they were clearer than before. The vulnerability was still there, but so was a flicker of something new. A softness, yes, but something firmer beneath it. You held her gaze until she dipped her head, burying it into the crook of your neck like she was shy about being seen.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you both and kissed the top of her head. Your hand stayed in her hair, smoothing it gently, and your other hand rested low on her back, keeping her close.

“I'm proud of you.”

Her breath caught, not a sob, not quite, but something raw enough to make your own throat tighten. She didn’t speak, only nodded slowly against your skin. Eventually she exhaled, soft and deep, like those four words reached someplace she didn’t have language for yet. You felt her fingers twitch against your skin. Her mouth brushed your collarbone as she breathed again, slower this time. There was still a trembling at the edges of her, but it was the kind that came after release. After surrender.

You watched the faint rise and fall of her body, felt her toes brush your ankle. Her presence felt so immediate, so here, and yet somehow delicate too, like a thread you didn’t dare tug too sharply. You could feel how close she was to drifting off, but still right on the edge, hovering in that quiet space that comes after giving so much of yourself away.

She had given you everything tonight. Let you in completely. Not only to her body, but to all the quiet, careful parts of herself she usually kept buried. The parts she was still learning to trust in someone else’s hands. You held her a little tighter, not because she needed it, but because you wanted her to feel it, to know it was real.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again, not because she needed reminding, but because you needed her to know it wasn’t just for tonight. It was a promise. One you meant to keep.

There’d be time later to talk. To untangle the rest. But this, this was enough.

And somewhere deep in that quiet, something else was blooming. Not just peace, but something stronger. You saw it in the way her breath evened out. In the way she stayed close instead of retreating. She was starting to believe in herself again. Not in the way others demanded, but in a way she chose.

Her breathing had evened out against your skin, her body loose and heavy with the kind of tired that didn’t just sit in the muscles but deep in the bones. You weren’t far behind. Every part of you ached, used and spent, but it was the best kind of ache. Earned. Shared.

You shifted only to tuck the blanket higher over her shoulders. She mumbled something too quiet to catch, but her hand slid across your side like she was making sure you were still there. You answered by pulling her in a little closer, tucking your chin above her head.

Her leg curled tighter around yours. Your fingers stayed at the small of her back, moving slow, lazy strokes that barely counted as motion. The air between you was warm and quiet, filled only with breath and the weight of everything you didn’t need to say.

Eventually, her body went still. Sleep found her first. You felt it in the way her hold loosened just enough to be unconscious but not enough to let go.

You didn’t bother fighting the pull of sleep when it came. Not with her still wrapped around you, her breathing deep and steady against your skin, your arms full of her warmth. You just let go, the weight of the night fading, and drifted with her into a soft peaceful sleep.

[kelsunnie]

What Isn't Said (Deltarune Kris X Reader)

HI GUYS LONG TIME NO SEE I'M VERY SORRY FOR THE DELAY BUTBUT FINALLY ITS HERE AND DONT WORRY CHAPTER 4 IS IN THE WORKS IM LITERALLY WRITING IT RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK FOR NOW ENJOY THIS ONE LOVE U ALL

Chapter 3: A CYBER'S WORLD?

Kris and Susie instinctively pull out their weapons, with Kris’ being a sharp sword and Susie’s, as you’ve seen before, is an axe. You thought that their weapons fit their personalities, but it made you wonder about the grappling hook. You didn’t even know when and how to use it properly, and you’d hate to use it to hurt anyone.

“Wait! Why are we fighting them? Shouldn’t we, like, maybe… help them?” You tried to reason with the two.

“Well, yeah, dingus. We’re gonna do that,” Susie shot back, gripping her axe, “We just have to figure out how first.” 

You swallowed hard, glancing between the sparking creature and your friends. “Okay… okay. Think,” you stared at the scenario around you, trying to piece together something that could help ease both sides. 

And then—

“… Susie, throw me.” Kris’ voice cut through the tension, low and flat. Their eyes didn’t meet you or Susie, but their voice sounded determined and rushed, like they were trying to finish things up quickly, which you don’t really blame them for. 

“WHAT?!”

Susie hesitated for half a second, then let out a low chuckle. “Man, you’re weird. But hey—whatever gets it done.”

“No, wait! What??? Obviously, don’t! They’re gonna get hurt!”

“Okay, suuure, but do you have any ideas? Maybe throwing Kris at the enemy will help,” 

“Well…” 

“… The wire. Throw me near the wires.” 

“No no no wait. Wait a second. Okay,” you gestured for them to wait, hand on your head, “Okay, I get what you’re trying to do now.” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to calm the panic in your chest.

For the briefest second, you thought you saw it — the faintest curl at the corner of Kris’s mouth. A smile. But it was gone too fast to be sure.

“I have an idea.”

You raised the grappling hook, gripping it tighter, “Let me try something. I can maybe hook the wires—pull them loose, cut the power. We won’t have to hurt Kris at all.”

Susie stared at you, then gave you a smirk, shrugging, “Huh. Alright, nerd. Let’s see what you got.”

You took a deep breath, and with all your strength, swung the grappling hook towards the Werewires in a curved manner. 

“Please, don’t hit them…!” you whispered to yourself, anxiety creeping up on your back, scared of your hook hitting the Werewires. The hook sails in the air as it gets smaller in your point of view, until you can see it reach near the Werewires, quickly pulling it slightly to help make the rope wrap around the wires. The grappling hook obeyed, catching hold, but only snaring one of the cords. Once the rope of the hook clung hard enough, you yanked it. The wire trembled, then snapped loose from the Werewires’ body, falling harmlessly to the ground.

“Damn, I only got one,” you cursed through your breath, frustration bubbling in your chest, “Think you guys can handle the other one?”

“On it!” Susie smirked, glancing at Kris for a plan.

Kris stepped up behind her, cool and focused, resting their arms on either side of them as if bracing for takeoff.

“Alright, then, you weirdo,” Susie grabs Kris by the waist, holding their blue-skinned friend from above while waiting for Kris’ signal.

“Go,” Kris steadily commanded Susie.

“Kris!” You cried, panic rising in your voice.

With barely a heartbeat to spare, Kris drew their blade mid air, slashing cleanly at the wire. Sparks flew as the wire snapped loose, unraveling from the Werewire’s body before dropping to the ground with a thud.

“Are you both crazy?!” You barked, breathless from the sight.

Neither of them answered at first—Kris adjusting their stance calmly and Susei brushing off her hands like it was nothing.

“Throwing Kris aside,” Susie came up to you, face looking smug, “We make a pretty good team.”

“… I can’t deny that,” you exhaled, shoulders still tense, “But that was reckless. What if Kris got hurt?” 

Susie shrugged, “Well, they’re not, aren’t they?”

“I’m not.” Kris answered, their voice steady.

“… That’s good to hear,” you muttered, relief finally washing over your body.

“Well, it was nice fighting after so long!” Susie faced Kris, eyes glinting with excitement, “Now let’s go catch up to Queen!”

Suddenly, a couple wires dropped from above, hitting the previous pink creatures, transforming them into the Werewires you recently fought.

“… Or not!” All of you quickly readied yourselves, 

Until the two Werewires dropped on the ground, as if they fell asleep, the power cords no longer attached and fell on the empty space.

“Huh? They calmed down?”

“I just used my PACIFY spell to put them into “Sleep Mode”!” came a cheerful voice from behind.

“Ralsei! You’re here!”

Ralsei? you thought to yourself. You turned to the unfamiliar but kind sounding voice and your eyes widened. The Ralsei they spoke of looked a lot like Asriel, except way shorter and softer, wrapped in green with a pink scarf. Your heart twisted a little. It shouldn’t have surprised you. After all, this world had already broken every rule of logic the moment you woke up alone in a strange outfit with a grappling hook in your hand. But still, seeing that face—the one you used to look up to like a big brother—made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You’re not him, you wanted to say. But you remind me of everything I’ve lost.

You quickly tried to compose yourself, shaking your head in an attempt to get rid of your thoughts about the new arrival’s physical appearance. 

“I felt a dark presence and hurried over!” Ralsei ran towards all of you, a cheerful smile plastered on his face, “I’m so glad you’re all okay.” 

His gaze shifted to you, soft and warm and he spoke your name, “I’ve been hoping to meet you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… how do you know my name?”

Ralsei beamed, the adorable goat looking extremely adorable in your eyes, “You’re the star that will mend the bonds!”

“Whaaaaaat?” You blurted out in disbelief, voice raising up to an octave, “This isn’t some game or something, right? I’m probably dreaming all of this, yeah. And what does that even mean?”

“Well, I can help you understand by telling you our history and prophecy!”

“Okay, I think that’ll—”

“BORING!” Susie suddenly groaned, cutting you off, “No more of your fairytale speeches, Fluffyboy. We’ve heard it all before.”

Ralsei flinched, his ears twitching, “But.. But they haven’t…”

“And if we stand around yappin’, Noelle’s gonna end up having her face be turned into a robot or whatever Queen’s got planned,” Susie added, crossing her arms with a loud huff.

You blinked between the two of them, still stunned, “Wait. What prophecy? What ‘star’ thing? What does this have to do with me?”

Ralsei looked apologetically toward you, his hands nervously wringing together, “I… I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.”

“So this isn’t some kind of dream?”

“We’ll talk about it after we save Noelle,” Susie turned around, walking ahead of you, “C’mon, she’s waiting. If we don't do something, she might be..."

You stood there for a second, reeling, glancing at Ralsei, whose worried but hopeful eyes stayed on you before forcing your feet to move. His eyes were gentle, but seemed to be clouded with something unspoken. Whatever he meant earlier still echoed in your head like a riddle half-whispered. The questions in your mind piled higher than ever, but for now, you had no choice but to follow and listen to their conversations. 

One of them will slip eventually. What is this place anyway? You thought with a quiet huff, scanning your surroundings.

“You’re pretty worried for someone you barely talk to,” you eyed your purple classmate, “No offense, but you’re kind of mean to everyone.”

“Well–!” Susie faltered, quickly crossing her arms and looking away, “No! I mean… she’s… nice… I guess. That’s all!”

Then, more defensively, she added, “Aren’t you supposed to be her friend? You’re just messing around in OUR Dark World!”

You blinked, stunned for a second. That stung more than you expected.

“... I didn’t ask to be dragged into this,” you muttered, your voice quieter but sharp, “but I’m not about to stand by and do nothing if Noelle’s in danger.” 

The group fell silent for a beat. You glanced at Kris, hoping for something—anything—but their face was unreadable, eyes distant like they were watching the scene from a step outside themselves. You felt a pang in your heart, thoughts rushing in your head like a dam that broke open—does Kris care about Noelle? Do they care about you? Do they care about your friendship? Their expression unsettled you more than you admitted.

You turned your gaze back to Susie, softening just a little, “I just want her safe, too. That’s all.”

Ralsei quickly stepped in, “Worry not, everyone! All we have to do is seal the Fountain!”

“… Yeah. Yeah! Can’t be mad about another adventure, right?!”

Dark World... Fountain... You echoed in your mind. Right. I’ll remember that. 

“C’mon, Kris!” Susie called out, already cracking her knuckles with anticipation. 

Then suddenly, they all turned at once, striking familiar poses—Ralsei smiling with his arms raised playfully, Susie’s hand on her hip while the other is curled into a loose fist near her chin, a smirk plastered on her face, and Kris… 

You stared for a beat too long. Kris had their arms crossed, their back facing you—silent, unmoving, like they were trying really hard to be mysterious.

“... Are you guys always this theatrical?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself.

No one answered. You blinked, the three of them still holding their respective poses.

“... Seriously?”

Ralsei giggled softly, “It’s tradition!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, sigh, or start walking away. Instead, you just muttered, “Okay… Sure. Pose break. Got it,” and reluctantly struck your own awkward stance, hoping no one was watching.

Susie smirked, “Not bad, nerd.”

Kris didn’t comment on your pose, but you thought—just maybe—you caught the tiniest twitch of a smile. Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, swearing to yourself over and over that you were never going to do that again.

“… Let’s go,” Kris said quietly, their voice echoing just enough to pull you all forward again.

Your group pressed on, footsteps rhythmically echoing around the unfamiliar space. Questions still lingered in your mind—about what Ralsei knew about you and the prophecy he was supposed to tell you. Susie seemed to know something about the prophecy, did Kris know about it, too? Did they know anything about you and your involvement? You glanced at the trio walking just ahead. Ralsei was humming a soft tune, his cape swaying with each bounce in his step. Susie was grumbling about “another detour” and “just wanting to hit something already.” And Kris—Kris remained unreadable, walking just slightly behind the others, silent as ever. Why didn’t they say anything back there? Why was it that you, of all people, were "the star that will mend the bonds"?

You sighed, scratching your head in frustration. There were too many questions, but too few answers. 

I guess I’ll wait for Ralsei’s explanation later.

The four of you head to a cliff with yellow arrows—something you were familiar with in this world. Without thinking, you moved first, stepping ahead to scout it, until a sudden tug at your shirt pulled you back. You turned in surprise.

Kris stood behind you, hand still gripping your clothes, “Long way down.”

You turned back to the cliff and almost immediately fear washed your entire body. One step closer and you would’ve been down there, laying flat. 

“… Thanks,” you whispered to your childhood friend, your pulse still hasn’t slowed.

“I’m going ahead, nerds,” Susie called, already sliding down the slope with a confident huff, “try not to fall off the cliff or whatever!”

Ralsei hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two of you, “I’ll make sure Susie doesn’t accidentally break anything… or anyone.” He offered a small, warm smile before following after her.

Their voices and footsteps faded. You and Kris were left in silence, a long pause. And then—

“... Hand,” Kris spoke up, their voice quiet but firm.

You blinked. They had extended their hand to you—calm, yet a little hesitant. Not demanding, but… waiting. You look up, meeting their crimson eyes. Something about the gesture made your chest ache a little. Their gaze felt familiar, unlike the ones observed from them just moments ago. You weren’t sure if it was the same person you’d been watching just minutes ago—the one who felt distant, cold, almost mechanical. Kris didn’t say anything else but continued on staring at your eyes, gaze unreadable but grounded. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and reached for their hand. Their grip was steady and surprisingly warm, making your heart beat a little faster than you’d like to admit. 

Hand in hand together, you both took the first step down. Sliding on a dangerously long slope while holding hands with your childhood friend in an unfamiliar place with robots and moving wires was certainly not your kind of supposed study session. Still, the warmth radiating on Kris’ hand and the comfort you’ve longed for all this time made the chaos feel… bearable. You tried not to think too hard about how tightly you were holding on—or how tightly they held back.

As you and Kris slid further down the slope, a blur of grey, gold, and booming bass erupted from above, matching you and Kris’ pace while sliding down.  A short, square-headed figure zipped into view, its body shaped like a living speaker, with wobbly wires as limbs and their speaker-looking head bobbing rhythmically. An 8-bit music groovy enough for you to bob your head mid-air was playing from its head… speaker. 

“Wait, Kris, who’s tha—” Before you could finish your sentence, something hit Kris. Not physically—but rhythmically. A glowing beat-shaped projectile slammed into their chest, knocking their balance off. Their grip on your hand tightened as they stumbled, pulling you slightly forward. You gasped, nearly toppling over yourself as you both continue falling. 

“You okay?” you yelled over the wind, hoping Kris could hear you, “Whoever that is, they better not be the one doing that!”

“... Yeah,” Kris gritted out, hand still gripping yours tight. Then softer, almost out of breath—“You’ll be okay.”

“Wha—?” You whipped your head toward them, heart racing, “What do you mean me? You’re the one who just got hit!”

But Kris didn’t answer. Their eyes were locked ahead—focused, sharp. Another rhythm-laced projectile lit up the air, pulsing toward you both. 

“… Duck!” they barked, and instinctively, you dropped low just as the beat whizzed past your head. Your body slid faster from the shift in weight, and Kris tugged you closer, using the momentum to steady you both. The air roared past your ears as you kept sliding, dodging glowing notes and gripping Kris’ hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then finally, after a gruelling session of dodging and intense hand holding out of pure survival, your feet hit solid ground. You staggered forward, nearly collapsing, but Kris held on, pulling you upright. 

You gasped for breath, hair windswept, adrenaline still spiking in your veins. “Okay… that was not in the library’s afterschool plans.”

Ahead, the square-headed figure skidded into a pose, striking a confident pose as it flies, or hovers away. 

You looked at Kris, still catching your breath, “Okay. What is happening right now?”

Kris, still unusually calm, gave you a look that said: Welcome to the Dark World.

“Took you nerds long enough,” Susie shouted from the end of the slope, a toothy grin spread across her face, “C’mon, let’s go!”

You were about to speak out about what just happened when your eyes landed on the scenery in front of you. The sky was painted dark blue with a green web enclosing the whole space. Countless tall buildings emerged from below, a few of its lights shining bright enough for you to squint your eyes even if they were miles away. Everywhere you looked, it was all neons, metals, and technology, making for what you surmised was some kind of cybernetic city. A huge sign hovers near the pathway, the words ‘CYBER WORLD’ glowing in neon green. 

You took a step forward, feeling the cool metal beneath your footwear reverberate softly. “… This is where we are now?” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone.

“Welp. Cool, I guess?”

[goodolddumbbanana]

[Emo uncle Nexus au] The early time when Sun and Nexus just start getting along back, things really tension between them

"If you could go back in time, would you choose me?"

Sun tilted his head, confused.

They were getting more pillows for Nexus, hoping that it would ease the pain that was ravaging Nexus's body.

They were machines and what Sun's did was meaningless, but he still picked the biggest and softest pillow and let Sun prop his knees up.

The soft feathers made him feel like he was sinking into the bed. A wave of sleep came over him and in a weak feeling he asked the unconscious question he had been repressing deep within the recesses of his mind.

"Back then when you killed me..."

Nexus didn't understand why his throat suddenly hurt, as if his language system suddenly failed. A slight awkwardness slowly pressed down on Nexus' chest and he just wanted to bury his face in the blanket to avoid embarrassment.

"Nothing... Forget me ask..."

Sun's nimble hands that were adjusting the blanket to make it smooth suddenly stopped. Their pearly eyes stared blankly into nothingness and for a moment, a soft, sad sigh that seemed to take all the air from their lungs grabbed Nexus's heart.

"I'm sorry".

Just three simple words and it was like the frustration he didn't know he has in his heart slipped away.

There was a flash of pain, anger, disappointment and then acceptance. Nexus wished he didn't understand Sun so well and at the same time didn't understand at all the person who used to be his brother or still was his brother.

The family is more important than you.

Nexus wonders what would happen if he even dragged Earth in. Would Sun choose to kill both of Moon and save Earth?

Sun always seems to like Earth than him. And so does she.

Nexus never noticed that Sun's knuckles were pressed so tightly against the bed, as if he wanted to hug him but didn't dare.

"nevermind," Nexus laughs, the laughing almost feels like a cry for help. "We both know I wouldn't leave you alive if you did that. I would kill your Moon and Solar. That is a logical choice, Sun."

"I didn't blame you."

"I blame you."