#ALSO ANOTHER STRANGE THING Is i was going through really old asks from like a year ago and I SAW U ASKED IF I WANTED TO ADD U ON GENSHIN- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vamplvs · 18 days ago

Text

TOO YOUNG (TO KEEP LOVE FROM GOING WRONG)

INCLUDES -> bob reynolds x ex!reader WARNINGS -> depression, addiction, past drug use, just really bad relationships/significant others all around (only in the past, i promise. they're both working on themselves), panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, getting together (again), reader has some undisclosed/implied mental health issues WORD COUNT -> 6.5k SUMMARY -> your history with bob is from a past he'd rather forget, one that haunts him every day, and it all comes crashing back when he runs into you at a coffeeshop.

NOTES -> this fic is my baby, and i've been working on it for nearly a month now. there have been so many revisions and rewrites, but i'm so excited to finally post it! i promise it's not all as sad as it seems, but pls keep the warnings in mind. as always, comments and rbs are much appreciated! also if anyone wants to ask abt my hcs for bob’s scars and such my inbox is VERY open and i have thoughts

every day that bob gets out of bed is a good day, he tells himself. well, that's what yelena and his therapist tell him, so it must be true. it's a good day when he works a brush through his hair, when he makes himself breakfast, and when he does his laundry.

it's a good day when he gets through another chapter of that new book he picked up last week while he was out. he has it marked up with sticky notes, reminders of passages he liked or things that made him think—and, as much as he is loathe to admit it, definitions written in the margins. it's already lovingly worn, and he's only halfway through it. but he can't resist the urge to go back through it sometimes, just looking back at what he took note of and why. it's like his own personal window into his mind. he's sure that dr. fieldstone will have a field day with that if she ever finds out.

it's an even better day when bob finds the energy to go out for the day. he's discovered bookstores, record shops, and even the occasional restaurant he likes. there's a vietnamese place only a few blocks away from the tower that's become a regular take-out spot for the team. a block away from that place is a cat shelter with the sweetest old maine coon named maximus. he belongs to the owner, and bob always takes the time to pet him when he's in the area.

bob's been enjoying running small errands for the team. sort of, anyways. it's not like he likes the errands themselves—there's nothing particularly exciting about picking up groceries, after all—but it's that he gets to do something for the team. it's that he gets an excuse to go out. while they're all off saving the world from this week's supervillain, bob is out getting sugar, eggs, some garlic, and whatever else the kitchen appears to be missing.

today's task, however, is coffee. last night the team arrived worn and ragged after the mission valentina sent them on, and bob's current mission is, hopefully, cheering them up with overly expensive coffee from the place yelena and walker both like down the street. they never seem to go together, but he recognizes their takeout cups with the logo printed on the side. walker would never admit to it, but bob knows he was the one to find it.

the coffeeshop is familiar, even though he's only really been there once or twice with yelena. it's a cozy, hole in the wall kind of spot—just hidden enough that it hasn't been overrun by the hustle and bustle of manhattan. it's got warm lighting and a wall covered in old magazine cutouts and framed pictures that date back decades.

he's got everyone's orders typed haphazardly in his notes—shit, he can't remember if walker wanted his drink iced or not. usually, walker's got a cold drink when bob sees him with one, but the weather's been strangely cold recently, so maybe he's changed his mind. bob certainly would.

just as he's about to step in line and make a last minute decision, a voice pulls him back.

"that you, robert?" and it's a voice he only just recognizes after years of putting it out of his mind.

he turns and sees you. his heart nearly stops. what are the odds that you're in new york? especially now during his "recovery," as dr. fieldstone puts it. you still look like you, but you've grown now, changed in some way that bob can't quite define. you're still just as beautiful as the last time he saw you. by the time his mind catches up to his ears, discomfort is starting to bleed into the air.

"y-yeah! hi," he puts a hand out awkwardly to shake yours. the weight of your hand in his is familiar, almost nostalgic. the thought nearly makes him recoil.

"long time, no see." you say it with a gentle smile, but he recognizes the way your smile dips when you're trying to be polite. he recognizes the way you scan him for signs, the same way you used to. "you look... good, different."

"yeah, um, getting sober does that, i think." he winces at his own words, remembering the fight you had the last night he saw you through the haze of some cocktail-from-hell he had conjured up with some people he certainly shouldn't have been around. it had seemed like a great idea at the time.

—

though the memory is foggy, he remembers you coming home to him tearing apart the kitchen and yelling about spies and malware.

bob was wired. it's like he was dialed up all the way to 100, and man, was it good. until it wasn't. until he was sure that his phone was tapped, and that there was a camera in the apartment watching his every move. every cabinet in the kitchen had been flung open and searched through, a mess of pots, pans, and cutlery decorating the once neat countertops.

"can't stay sober for a day, can you?" your words were harsh and grating, and it only sent bob further into an emotional free fall. that quiet voice in the back of his mind, the one that lingered when he was high no matter how desperately he tried to erase it, hissed that you weren't supposed to see him like this. he was worked up, angry and scared, and there was no going back.

"you don't understand! they're-" he had gestured wildly around the kitchen, as if that proved anything. as if you could see the government's secret eye on the apartment if he just yelled about it loud enough.

"they're not fucking watching you, robbie, you're high!" there were tears in your eyes, he remembers that now. "you said you'd get sober. two nights ago, you promised." and he remembers how defeated you sounded, the way your voice broke.

"you knew i was like this when we started going out." bob remembers the rage he felt and how sick it made him the next morning when he finally sobered up.

"yeah, but- i mean, jesus, robbie, this is going to kill you someday!" you were across the room from him, and he vividly recalls the way you had backed up when he stepped towards you like it's happening in real time all over again.

"maybe i want it to!" he had shouted. he had shouted at you, the last person in the world who deserved it. the person he called the love of his life. it felt so right to say in that moment, and that's what scared him the most. "finally put me out of this misery."

your face had dropped, and it was the only time that night you had taken a single step towards him. "don't say that-"

"why not? it's true." he had laughed in your face, and god, that made him nauseous now.

"don't you dare fucking say that."

you had left that night, telling bob you wanted him out of the apartment within the next day. he found out later that you were holed up in a friend's place bawling your eyes out.

bob doesn't remember if he ever put your kitchen back together, or if he left that to you.

he's not sure where he was in between your apartment and his own, either. there's a week of missing time that bob woke up from dazed and hurting.

—

you simply laugh, and at least this sounds more real than your smile looked. he's not sure how you're laughing, honestly. he was awful- "i'm glad you're doing better."

"me too." silence settles between you two as bob debates the merits of literally shoving a foot in his mouth. it might be better than everything he's said so far.

"saw you were with that new avengers crew on tv, and i couldn't believe my eyes." he laughs, but it's stilted. do you know about the void, too? "i mean, the robbie reynolds bunking with congressman barnes and the, uh, the knock-off captain america?" you gesture vaguely at the mention of walker, like you're trying to remember his name. "it's totally wild."

"y-yeah, i'm- i got lucky."

before he can say anything else, the barista calls your name. you bid him a quick goodbye, and his palms are sweating by the time you walk out.

the rest of his day goes by in a haze of remembering, a walk down memory lane he'd rather not take. he stammers his way through the coffee order, and nearly gets run over by a very angry taxi driver on his walk back to the tower. the drinks get dropped off in the kitchen with a brief text to yelena telling her he's back, and then he's off to his room to read.

because today is a good day, he tells himself.

today is a good day, and he's going to get through another chapter of that book if it's the last thing he does.

his footfalls are loud in the wide hallways of the tower. they echo gratingly back at him, getting louder as his heart rises in his throat. god, it's been how many years now? he remembers that part of his life through highs and lows, through the way his breath still whistles out his nose from a perforated septum, and the track lines left on his elbows and thighs. he still can't wear short sleeves, and-

the collar of his sweater is constricting, he realizes. too tight against the skin of his neck, and he can't breathe.

he can't fucking breathe.

his lungs are tight, held close by ribs he's all-too aware of. and his sweater- it's choking him. the once soft fabric slices at his neck like it's a tourniquet. his hands find the cold wall of the hallway to guide him back to his room. he can hardly see past the black spots that speckle his already tunneling vision.

breathing. air. he needs that.

he takes a shaky lungful and pushes forward, stumbling until he finds the door to his room.

the doorknob is icy in his hand, the only solid thing he feels around him. the floor is starting to slip away from under him, and the walls only get closer and closer until they're pressing in.

it's a miracle he makes it to his bed before he collapses outright.

but he does. and it's still a good day because his book is sitting on his bedside table.

if he can just get his hands to stop shaking, he'll pick it up and flip to the next chapter. if he can just get his breath to stop coming up so fast, or get his vision to focus on something in the room, it can stay a good day.

but he doesn't, and he can't. he's frozen in place, trapped within his own too-tight skin, as he lays on his bed, staring out at the wall in front of him. that look in your eye—the one of terror, concern, and worst of all, love—infiltrates his mind unbidden.

the sound of the door opening is muffled, or far away. bob can't quite tell. it should be right there, but it isn't. and he can't get his head to turn to see who's walked in.

"bob?" comes yelena's voice, still miles away from where he is in the vast expanse of his bed. "you've been here for ages." has he? he only just got back.

he makes a small sound in the back of his throat when he feels a weight at the end of his bed, a hand on his knee. yelena doesn't move for an eternity. she just sits, gently rubbing his knee until he can force air in and out of his lungs again.

"bob, can you talk yet?" she says eventually, and that's the reminder he needs to move again. that she's been sitting for so long he needs to explain something.

"i saw someone i knew when i was-" he cuts himself off with an unsteady breath. when i was still using, goes unspoken but heard all the same. he's cold, so very cold—is that why he's still shaking? yelena's warm hand on his knee is only doing so much.

"who?" her voice is so gentle when she says it, like there's something quiet in the air she doesn't want to break. bob wishes she would.

"my- um, my ex." his whole body tenses when he looks at her, but he finds nothing but care and worry in her eyes. "i was horrible when we-"

"hey," she interrupts before he can keep spiraling, "you've changed. i know you have." her hand is heavier on his knee now, a grounding force. but has he? he still itches for that high every day. he misses it. yelena interrupts his train of thought again. she could be a mindreader, and bob wouldn't be surprised. "did they seem uncomfortable?"

"who wouldn't be?" he mumbles into his pillow, a pitiful little sound.

"did they talk to you, bob?" she presses, pragmatic as always.

"y-yeah, they said hi. said they were glad i was going better." at least his voice is less shaky now. small victories, like dr. fieldstone tells him.

"then they don't hate you," and she says it with such finality that he almost takes her at her word. yet, there's a lingering thought: you'd seen bob at his worst, and you don't know the half of what he's done now. hell, even he doesn't really know.

"but-"

"no one talks like that with someone they hate" yelena pauses like she's still searching for the right words, "or someone they're scared of. i wouldn't." she pats his knee a final time before standing. "walker is making dinner, if you want to join us. or i can bring you something-"

"yeah," he says, without letting her finish her offer. the thought of being in a room with walker and alexei makes his head spin.

yelena hums, and bob knows it's a promise that she'll be back.

—

bob returns to that coffeeshop nearly three weeks later. yelena had urged him to go again, and dr. fieldstone agreed. he likes the coffeeshop, and he shouldn't be afraid of seeing his past there. this time he brings his book with him. he's determined to find the small space safe again. so he sits in the corner with a warm drink and his book propped open on his knee.

it's peaceful. there's quiet music playing throughout the shop, and people head in and out in their own worlds, leaving bob to his own devices. he marks up the pages, using his color-coordinated sticky notes to keep track of where he is.

he's glad he started reading it. it's complicated and makes it brain work overtime, trying to catch up on the words he's lost. dr. fieldstone says having trouble reading and understanding is just one of those things using did to him—and, more importantly, that it's something he can get back. so he picked up a dense fantasy novel, the kind with a million made-up names and places, to start on that.

dr. fieldstone was proud of him for it, and he's proud of himself.

"you're back," he hears you say, and his head shoots up, taking him out of his train of thought abruptly. you're standing across from him with your drink in hand. this time he's sure his heart stops beating. "mind if i sit?"

before he thinks twice about it, he nods, dumbfounded.

"i thought i might've scared you off," you say sheepishly, like it's your fault at all.

"no! no, that was-" he fumbles his way through a halfhearted excuse. the skeptical brow you raise is more than enough proof it doesn't work.

"so... you a fan of this place?" your voice is so gentle, deceptively so.

"my friends are." he neglects to mention that the friends in question are walker and yelena.

"thought you'd just give it a try, then?" you flinch when the words come across more confrontational than you intended. "sorry, i am glad you're back, i don't know why i said that so..." you trail off.

"it's okay," he mumbles back. silence settles like a weight between you again.

"what have you been up to outside of, y'know, the whole super team thing?"

he doesn't tell you he's not really on the team. he can't. if he does, that opens up a conversation about the void, and the thought alone has him sweating. "um, therapy, mostly, and some reading." he points to his book with all it's uneven notes poking out of it and dog-eared pages.

"that's good, man! i'm happy for you."

you're- what? you smile at him with so much honesty it's hard to look at.

"what about you?"

the conversation carries on, and it's easier than he expected. it isn't smooth, not by a long shot, but you're still sitting with him, still inviting more conversation.

small victories, he hears dr. fieldstone say in his head.

he can tell you're still wary around him, your smile flickering just enough any time his past comes up. you dodge any response that might be a reminder of your relationship or those several months you spent together. but you're talking and laughing with him, and it's good. it's really good.

it's so good it scares him. his heart's been pounding since you sat down with him, and he hopes you can't see the sweat that's starting to bead on his brow.

it's been an hour by the time you finally check your phone.

"i'm glad we got to catch up, robert," you say with a smile.

"it's just bob."

"right. bob," you amend, trying the new name out. "i have to go, but... think we could do this again some time?"

—

he finally brings you by the tower after several months of meeting up for coffee—several months filled with what started as carefully navigated conversation, that has now turned into something new. you tell him about your own therapy and the steps you've taken to be better. he eventually tells you about dr. fieldstone and the void. he nearly cried when he did it, but you smiled and nodded like he hadn't told you he was responsible for all of new york reliving their worst memories. you had repeated that same, "i'm happy for you, bob. i'm proud of you for doing all this."

he had been ignoring the growing warmth in his chest every time you spoke to him like he was worth something, too.

you're nearly vibrating with excitement as the tower comes into view. when he brought up learning how to cook, you demanded he show off a little. and if his heart raced when you said you wanted him to cook for you, that's a secret he will forever hold tight to his chest.

"walker's an asshole, but he's sorta nice once you get to know him, and yelena's real sweet. she's just a little scary at first-" he spends the walk from the coffeeshop giving you a run down of the team in case any of them are home when you get there.

"so, yelena, huh?" you ask when he's finished with his spiel.

"yeah, what about her?"

"nothing, just- you're so excited when you talk about her." there's something indecipherable in your voice that almost sounds like jealousy, but bob knows better than that. he knows better than to hope for something that won't happen ever again.

and what's he supposed to say to that? any real reason makes his throat go dry. she helped me through one of the toughest things i've ever been through, and i can't even remember most of it? she's become one of my closest friends and understands me like no one else does? except, maybe, for you.

"she's great, you'll see," is what he settles on, and the way your smile stays stiff tells him that isn't the right response.

the tower is blessedly empty when you get there, which gives you and bob ample time to spread out ingredients around the kitchen. he's settled on a fairly simple pasta dish—comfort food—and you've taken up a seat at the island.

"so, what's it like in the tower?" he can feel your eyes on his back as he sets a pot to boil on the stove. his sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, not daring to go any higher despite the heat from the fire.

"empty, a lot of the time." you hum, and then he adds. "not lonely, though. it's just a big space, y'know? when everyone's back from missions or press or whatever, we all have our spaces. it's kinda nice."

"right, yeah." he hears you stand up, and you're by his side in a flash. he doesn't miss the wary glance you send his arms. "anything i can help with?"

"well, uh, the garlic needs dicing." he pulls out two cutting boards and knives—one set for you to dice the garlic on and another for him to chop up onions.

it's quiet as you both work, and a few weeks ago bob would have been desperately trying to fill up the silence with some kind of conversation—if only to keep from having to suffer through your unresolved history. now, though, it's different. it's almost comfortable.

almost.

he's just too aware of your presence next to him, of the way you glance over occasionally. it has goosebumps dancing across his skin. he pointedly stares down at the onion he's slicing, careful not to cut himself. not that he can really get hurt anymore, he has to remind himself.

"how's that new book you picked up?" you ask abruptly, like you can't stand the quiet anymore.

he does his best to breeze past the thought that maybe it wasn't as comfortable as he thought and launches into an explanation of the world and its characters—explaining why he likes the main character, but the villain is sympathetic, too. he still gets caught up on some of his words, like the word he's searching for is hidden behind some mental block, but you don't seem to care.

you listen to all of it with rapt attention. you ask all the right questions to keep him talking, and nod at the right times.

but there's a part of him that can't quite shake the thought that you're doing this for your benefit somehow, that you don't really care. he thinks about the way you kept looking at him, how your eyes landed on the crook of his elbow.

something cold flares in his chest then.

it's only interrupted by yelena's voice from the door.

"bob! you didn't say you were bringing people over."

"you must be yelena! i'm-" you put a hand out to shake hers, but she brushes past you to get to the fridge. bob notices the way you bristle.

"oh, i know who you are," she says with something akin to a feral grin, picking out a bright can of soda, "bob talks about you often."

"does he?" you raise an eyebrow at him, something unreadable in your gaze.

bob shrugs one shoulder sheepishly. "yelena asks about the coffeeshop a lot." he leaves out the part where yelena asks to check up on him, to make sure that he isn't spiraling about it like he was in the beginning. but he's good now, scarily so.

"it's one of my favorites."

"so you're the reason i ran into him months ago!" the harsh look in your eye fades to kindness with a wide smile to match. "i have to say, i'm pretty glad you showed him that place. you've got good taste."

"so does bob," she replies, giving you a brief once over, and you laugh something awkward and stilted.

bob has never wanted to melt into the floor so badly.

"i'm, uh, making some pasta," he says, before yelena can say anything else stupidly revealing, "if you want some after."

"oh, no," yelena shakes her head in mock deference, "i wouldn't dare disrupt the date. besides, i have a mission tomorrow morning." then, she disappears down the hall.

bob hears you make a quiet, choked off sound by his side, turning quickly to get back to dicing the garlic. his ears burn.

"she's nice." you sound so strained that bob nearly laughs.

"yeah, she's..." he trails off, looking for any decent way of describing her. "yelena," he finishes lamely.

you laugh at that, and something uncomfortable and scalding settles in bob's chest.

"so..." you're leaning against the counter, now, looking at bob, but he can't bring himself to return your gaze. "you talk about me?"

"i mean, yeah, uh, i guess." he very nearly winces at his own fumbling. "yelena knows about... us, and everything. she's curious, i think." and she's determined to meddle with his carefully crafted bubble of sanity he's finally managed with you, apparently. it must be a good sign that he's better, though. he knows yelena, and she wouldn't do that if she still thought he was struggling like he was all those months ago.

"right, of course." he catches your eye for just a moment, and sees that same, frustratingly unreadable expression. "and she's the type to joke about this being a date?"

his ears go hot, and he looks back down to the cutting boards in front of him, making quick work of gathering up the diced garlic and onions and tossing them into a pan with some oil. "i guess so, yeah."

tense silence settles over you, and it makes his skin prickle.

"so, if this were a date-" bob makes a concerted effort not to choke at the thought, "would she still be making jokes?"

"probably. she's like that," he manages, voice thin.

"okay, good to know."

he doesn't know what to do about the softness of your voice, or the racing of his heart, so he focuses his attention back on the stove instead.

—

yelena nearly doesn't come home from the next mission.

there's blood pouring from a wound in her side that the others refuse to tell bob the details of. her steps are uneven, breath too ragged, and bob can't think straight enough to be of use in the med bay. alexei is the one to carry her there, while bob stays frozen in place.

it's one of those missions where valentina makes sure to rub in just how useful bob would be if he was smart, or maybe strong, enough to manage being sentry—and the void. if he had been out there, would she have gotten hurt? could he have stopped a bullet or a knife? why won't anyone else tell him what the hell happened?

"bob," comes bucky's voice from behind him, and a heavy hand presses on his shoulder.

"yeah." his voice is rough, unsteady. it takes effort not to flinch away from bucky's hand.

"this isn't on you." how bucky's able to read him so well, bob will never understand. "she'll be fine."

there's something soothing about the low rumble of bucky's voice that has bob retreating to his room, footfalls heavy on the tiled floor. the image of yelena covered in blood plays through his mind again and again, superimposed over valentina's incessant urging for him to crawl back into the suit.

but he swears, just out of the corner of his eye, that he can see black, wispy tendrils of the void clawing at his skin and the walls.

he sits at the edge of his bed, picking up the thick hardcover on his nightstand. he can't quite read anything on the pages, eyes darting over words that warp and twist in front of him.

dr. fieldstone is only a call away, he knows that. she's on call for a reason, for moments like this where it feels like months of progress slip through his hands like sand. but his phone is already buzzing in his pocket when he pulls it out with numb fingers.

he sees a missed call from you and a series of texts:

we're still on for coffee right?

hello?

it's been an hour where are you

everything ok?

bob can't move. he stays frozen, looking down at the already dimming screen of his phone. shit.

his hands won't cooperate. they won't open his phone, shaking too badly to type in his passcode as nausea climbs up his throat.

shit, shit, shit. he was supposed to meet with you for coffee, like always. before yelena came back with a hole in her side, before his knees locked in the common room, before valentina's whispers of failure wormed their way through his head. before the shadows in the corners of his room had started to grow faces.

he can still make it out to you. it can still be a good day, despite yelena laying in the medical bay or your missed call or bob's rising panic. dr. fieldstone can tell him as much, if his fingers will just dial the number.

but that means months of work with you gone. that means you seeing him like this again, breathing hard and fast, tears burning in his eyes, and the sting of bile in the back of his throat.

—

"robbie?" came your voice from somewhere in the apartment, but bob couldn't lift his head up from the bathroom wall. his body ached. "hey, where are you?"

he let out some kind of garbled sound halfway between a grunt and a sob. you were in the doorway moments later, eyes wide with panic. they softened upon seeing him curled up against the wall, and you were kneeling by his side before he even saw you move.

"hey, you're okay," you muttered, tugging him tight against you. "everything's okay, now."

"n-no, it's- fuck." his hands scrabbled for purchase against your back, like that would keep him from falling further into a spiral. he couldn't speak, couldn't find words or put them in the right order, like they were blended together in a horrible smoothie of vowels and consonants.

it was always like this when he came down. the panic, the incoherence. and you were always patiently waiting for him to start taking deep breaths, to think.

it was two weeks later that you left him in that kitchen.

—

it takes bob a week to respond to you.

he feels guilty, a pit settling in his stomach every time he thinks about it. he didn't mean to ignore you, but with yelena out and valentina's taunts lingering like always, he barely finds his way out of his room at normal hours.

sorry. yelena's hurt

his screen is already dimming when he decides to send another text.

can we still do coffee next week?

you don't text back for hours, not that bob expects you to. you have a life, things to do outside of respond to bob and go to coffee with him. he understands that, even if his chest hurts every time he thinks about you. he knows that your probable anger is justified, and logical, but it doesn't stop the chill at his fingertips that spreads down his spine.

he spends his day frantically doing anything that needs to be done in the tower, buzzing with nerves. he makes quick work of the dishes that have been sitting in the sink and his laundry. he's done laps around the building, exploring nooks he's never seen before—and finds a great empty office with soft chairs, one of them facing the westward window of the room.

his phone goes off somewhere between one task and the next—when he's still buried in the need to do something before he tears his own skin off.

yeah sure

two simple words, and they have his head spinning.

—

street lamps flicker above him as bob walks through manhattan and towards the coffeeshop. it's later than usual for the two of you—at your request. bob's usual exploration of the city typically happens during daylight, when there's an endless hustle of people for him to fade into.

the city at night time is a different sight entirely. the streets aren't quite empty—they never seem to be, here—but they're quieter than the usual bustle of midday. and everything seems to glow. neon signs, street lights, the cozy warmth of indoor lamps in apartment windows. despite it all, it's still loud. there's a group of college students ahead of him laughing with their bags slung over their shoulders, sirens a block over, and the ever-present honking that pervades the city regardless of the hour.

it's nice in a way he can't quite define—certainly nothing like florida, and for that, he's grateful.

he finds you sitting at a table by the window watching people pass by. you've got a warm drink in your hand, and he's not sure you see him approach until you raise an eyebrow at him and gesture to the drink sitting on the other end of the table.

you ordered for him.

"thanks."

"sure." you pause, and bob lets you have it. "what happened last week?" his stomach dips.

"yelena got hurt." he still sees flashes of that dark red staining the floor, the lingering fear that his best friend could have died and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"yeah, you said."

"she's okay now. it was scary for a few days, though."

"i bet." every response from you is clipped, and it sends him fumbling for more to say.

"yeah, um, it was rough, y'know? i thought i was gonna lose one of my best friends."

"i know the feeling." even you wince at your tone, no doubt remembering the same things that bob is. your eyes scan over his face for a moment, taking in flashes of an expression bob isn't entirely sure he's making. "sorry, i didn't mean-"

"it's okay. i get it."

but that must be the wrong response, because your brow furrows, and you're standing before he can figure out what the right response could be.

"i should go. this was a bad idea."

"no, wait-"

you're out the door before he can finish, but he's already racing after you. he knows he fucked up by ignoring you, that he should've just come clean, but he doesn't want to lose you over it.

"wait, i'm sorry!"

"bob, enough!" you whip around to face him. the glow of a street light illuminates the planes of your face, casting harsh shadows across it. "just, stop, okay? stop apologizing, stop being nice, stop all of this."

"w-what?"

"we can't do this again. i can't do this again." bob's body goes cold. "this was a cute little fantasy while it lasted, but- we won't be good for each other."

"no, you don't-"

"don't tell me i don't understand, or that you're better now. this isn't about you, bob."

but it is. he knows it is.

"jesus, you're doing it again. enough with the self-flagellation. you're terrified when you're around me, and i can't-"

"i'm not!" his outburst is so sudden that it silences you. "i'm not terrified of you."

"you didn't see the look on your face just now."

"listen-" frustration bubbles in his chest something vicious.

"no," you growl, stepping closer to him. "i see the way you are with yelena, and-"

"is that what this is about?"

"no! it's about the fact that i haven't seen you in a t-shirt, and it's the middle of the summer. it's about the fact that we haven't had a single conversation about us without you veering the topic away like it'll kill you just to think about it." the accusatory finger you jab into his chest burns him.

"okay, fine! you scare the shit out of me," he yells over you, and that keeps you both quiet for one long moment. hell, it seems to hush the whole city. "i just don't want to hurt you." his voice is devastatingly quiet.

"i don't want to hurt you, either," you say, voice cracking around every word. silence settles over you like a cloud. it must be an odd sight, the two of you standing, breathing hard, in the middle of a sidewalk in manhattan. "god, i must be crazy for how much i still care about you, huh?" you run a hand over your face, looking away from him like it hurts.

"yeah, probably." he makes a miserable sound that's something like a laugh.

but you join him, and for a brief moment, he dares to think that maybe he can fix this.

"if we do this, it's-" you suck in a sharp breath, "we can't undo history, okay? that's not how this works."

"i- i know, and i'm sorry, i-"

"no, god, bob, i don't need you to apologize. not again. i just-" you look into his eyes and it's horrible and revealing. "we were both shitty, and we can't undo that."

"you didn't-"

"bob, i left you high, panicking, probably on the verge of some crazy, self-mutilating bender in my apartment. you were scared, and i left you there. and you know what's worse? it felt so right. i was so angry, and i said so many terrible things to you when i was like that."

"that's not your fault."

"yes it is." you sigh. "then you disappeared, and the next time i heard about you, it was on the news. i spent years thinking i hurt you, or left you to die, or something."

bob's heart breaks. none of this is your fault, at all, and it never will be.

"i was so scared for you, and i didn't know what to do about it." you pause, like there's more you want to say to him. he doesn't fill the silence, just lets you find the right words. "and then you disappeared again for a week, and i couldn't stop thinking about what happened to you. if- if you were back on some bender, or hurt, and i thought it was because i made that stupid comment about a date."

"i didn't mean to," he says in that same, quiet tone.

"i know."

"i was scared, too." you look at him with eyes so wide his heart hurts. "i was scared for me, too. and you." he whispers it like it's a secret.

"i know, bob, i know." you pull him into a hug so tight he swears he can hear his bones creaking, superpowers be damned. his hands pull you close, grabbing at the material of your shirt. he realizes, now, that his eyes are stinging with unshed tears.

"can we try again? if- if you want you, i mean," he mutters into your neck.

"yeah, i'd like that." you pull away from him, and the hand you put on his cheek is so gentle that it sends his tears over the edge. you don't say a word about them as you wipe them away. "we'll take it slow, yeah?"

—

the sun sets steadily, lighting up bob's room in the warm glow of sunset. he's learned to love slow days at the tower, where there isn't any pressure to do anything but the things he wants. he takes time to read, to catch up on the movies that have come out in recent years, to lay wrapped around you, of all people.

he's still not sure you're entirely real, if he's being honest. historically, he hasn't had the best luck with the way his life unfolds. it's usually one great disaster after the next—even if his ideas seem great at the time. but with you tucked into his side, maybe things can still turn around for him. maybe they already have.

"i'm glad we found each other again." your eyes are impossibly soft when they look at him. "my friends called me crazy when i said you were the love of my life, but look at you now."

bob flushes, and your laugh is light and airy.

"you're beautiful, always have been. but this version of you? yeah, he's even better." your fingers card through his hair and end up on his jaw. "i can't believe i get another shot with you."

you're telling me, he almost says. instead, he just hums, pulling you closer.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds headcanons #marvel x reader #marvel headcanons #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts headcanons #bob reynolds x you #marvel x you #thunderbolts x you #mcu x reader #mcu headcanons #mcu x you

188 notes · View notes

unstable-samurai · 10 months ago

Text

Passenger

Nana x Male Reader

word count: 7.8k

A/n: special smut to celebrate Nana's birthday 🥳

You're sitting at the counter, glass half-empty. The bar lights are dim, casting a warm amber hue that makes the place seem imperfect, but in a comforting way. Most nights, someone else serves you, someone who never asks your name, and you never feel the need to say it.

But tonight, that person isn’t here. Instead, there’s Nana.

You’ve noticed Nana before. How could you not? She stands out like a wildfire in the middle of a forest. She has that kind of beauty that’s almost aggressive, as if every detail was designed to challenge the idea that perfect people don’t exist. Her hair is long, black like the night outside, and her body... Her body is like a work of art, covered in tattoos you try not to stare at for too long, but they demand attention. Her curves, her intense eyes. She moves like she doesn't care about the world, but you notice her every move, and although you haven't realized it yet, she also notices you.

Tonight, she's the one who walks up to you. When she stops in front of you, you can’t hide your surprise.

"Another one?" she asks. Her voice is slightly deep, velvety.

You nod, trying not to seem nervous, but you know you are failing.

"You come here every night," she says as she fills your glass. "But I never serve you."

"Yeah. It’s always that bearded guy," you reply, forcing a smile. Your voice feels smaller than it should.

"What brings you here every day?"

"I like the atmosphere."

"It’s not the best place to be every night, you know."

You let out a sigh.

"Still, you work here every night."

She raises an eyebrow.

"And that’s exactly why I know it’s not a good place for you. By the way, my name is Nana."

You grip your glass tightly, as if it’s the only anchor keeping you there. You do the formalities, say it's a pleasure to meet her and also give her your name, then continue: "Well, I’m new in town," you end up saying, not sure why you’re opening up to her. "I don’t know many people yet."

She pauses for a second, as if studying you. Something in her eyes changes. She doesn’t say anything, but the way her lips curve suggests she’s interested.

"New in town... and you’ve already chosen this hole of a bar to spend your time?" she teases, with a half-smile.

You laugh, a short, nervous laugh. "It’s what’s available."

She leans in a bit, resting on the counter. "And what are you looking for here? Besides cheap beer?"

You think about the answer. You don’t have one. Or maybe you do. Or maybe you really don’t.

"I don’t know," you reply.

She smiles. A smile that says she understands what you’re going through.

—

The bar is almost empty now, just you, Nana, and a few lost souls at distant tables. The conversation flows easily, slipping through words like the drink she keeps serving you. You feel a lightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there when you walked in, as if the weight of the day had melted away, dripping to the floor along with the drops of beer.

"I get off at midnight," she says, casually, as she dries a glass with a cloth. "What do you think about going for a drive with me?"

You almost choke. "Are you serious?"

She looks over the rim of the glass, one eyebrow raised, a small smile on her lips. "Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?"

You glance around, as if expecting someone to wake you from a prank. "I thought... I don’t know, it was just bar talk."

"Bar talk is usually full of crap, I know," she says, pushing the glass aside. "But I’m not the type to say things just to say them. When I need to clear my head, I go for a drive."

Now you’re more intrigued. "A drive?"

She leans on the counter, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if there were nothing strange about a bartender inviting a guy she barely knows to go out at night. "I have a hobby," she says, without rush. "I like to restore old cars."

"Old cars?" That catches you off guard. You didn’t expect that. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last.

She points her thumb outside, toward the street. "The Impala out there. It’s mine."

Your eyes follow her finger, and you see the car parked outside. A black Impala, classic, gleaming under the faint streetlights. You’ve seen it plenty of times, but you never imagined it was hers.

"You’re kidding," you say, with a half-smile. "I see it there all the time, but I didn’t know it was yours. It’s beautiful."

She smiles, a smile that feels more personal now, as if you’ve hit something you didn’t know you were aiming for. "I restored it myself," she says, with contained pride. "Took a few good years, but there it is, ready to take me wherever I want."

You can’t hide your admiration. She’s different. Very different. The kind of person who seems to have lived a hundred lives while you’re still trying to figure out your first. And she seems to enjoy keeping you off balance.

"You... seem like a one-of-a-kind girl," you blurt out, without much thought, and realize how foolish it sounds once it’s said aloud.

"I could say the same about you," she replies, with a wink.

You feel a little out of place now. She has this confidence, this raw energy that you’ve never had. And you, the opposite of everything Nana seems to represent, never imagined attracting someone like her. But, for some reason, here she is, inviting you out, asking you to get into her car, to see her world.

"So," she says, suddenly serious. "Are you coming or not?"

Your mind is still processing everything, but before you can overthink it, you respond. "I’m in."

"Then you’ll be my passenger for the night," she says, grabbing her car keys from her pocket and twirling them on her finger. She leans closer, the distance between you shrinking until you can smell her. "I’m gonna take you to places you’ve never been before," she murmurs, and the way she says it makes it feel like those places aren’t just physical.

—

You’re standing outside, arms crossed against the chill of the night that seems to grow colder by the hour. The bar has finally closed, and now you can hear the muffled voices inside, the last of the staff finishing up. The black Impala is parked in front of you, gleaming under the streetlight. You wait, anxious, unsure of what to expect.

The door to the bar opens, and she appears. Nana. This time, without the counter between you. You notice now, in a much more intense way, how her body fills the space. She’s all soft lines and yet strong, tattoos tracing her arms that you imagine extend to places you haven’t seen yet.

She pauses for a second, noticing your gaze, and smiles with a bit of amusement. "Like my tank top?" she asks casually, turning slightly as if wanting you to get a better look. "I think it fits just right, don’t you?"

You swallow hard, and suddenly, your words seem to have evaporated. "Yeah... it looks great on you."

She lets out a low laugh, tilting her head as she slips on her leather jacket. "You’re not very good at hiding things, are you?"

Before you can respond, she opens the car door and motions for you to get in. You walk to the other side, feeling the ground unsteady beneath your feet. When you settle into the passenger seat, the smell of the leather upholstery mixes with her perfume, something intoxicating.

She starts the car, the engine purring low, deep, like a beast waking up. Nana leans slightly toward you, offering a cigarette. "Want one?"

You hesitate for a second, but... why not? "Sure."

She lights your cigarette first, then hers. The car still parked, both of you smoking in silence. You cough twice before getting the hang of it. The smoke mingles with the cold air seeping through the slightly cracked window. She seems content with the moment, like the entire scene is unfolding exactly as she had planned.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

She takes a long drag from the cigarette before answering, blowing the smoke out the side of her mouth. "I was thinking we could head to the coast. There’s a cliff along the road where you can see the sea, the bridge, and the lighthouse... it’s beautiful at night." Before you can respond, she continues, turning her face toward you with that mischievous smile that seems to be her signature. "But honestly? The destination doesn’t matter much. What matters is the ride." She looks at you for a second longer. "The company."

The way she says that — the way her eyes linger on yours — makes you feel like, yes, you will understand.

“I’m in your hands,” you say.

—

The Impala rumbles softly as she finally parks on the shoulder near the cliff. The road seems deserted now, wrapped in darkness, except for the thin line of streetlights stretching ahead. You step out of the car, the night air cooler here, damper, with the salty scent of the sea rising up to meet you. Nana gets out on her side, slamming the car door and pulling the zipper of her leather jacket up to her chin. She glances at you for a moment, her eyes gleaming, as if analyzing your reaction.

“This way,” she says, her phone's flashlight on, pointing to a trail that winds down a small hill, overgrown with weeds. “Watch your step here. It gets slippery.”

You descend slowly, each step sinking slightly into the loose soil. The wind is stronger here, whipping through the leaves and Nana’s hair, which she pushes back carelessly. You follow close behind, focusing on each movement, trying to appear confident but feeling the vulnerability of walking along a dark trail leading to a cliff.

Finally, you reach the cliff’s edge. The view is breathtaking—the suspension bridge stretching across the gap, the sea below churning under the distant light of a lighthouse. Lights flicker in the distance, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world is just this scene, this moment.

“Wow,” you murmur, taking it all in. “I’ve never seen the bridge from this angle... but I’ve seen pictures of people here.”

“Some braver tourists come here,” she says. “I think it makes them feel alive.”

She turns to you, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Want to take a picture too? To mark the moment.”

You laugh nervously but agree. “Sure… why not?”

Nana raises her phone, positioning you against the dramatic backdrop. “Stand there, try to look... introspective.”

You awkwardly pose, crossing your arms and gazing at the horizon. She snaps the picture and looks at the result, chuckling softly. “Came out great. I’ll send it to you later.”

She shows you the picture, and yeah, it really is great.

She leans against a rock, lighting a cigarette and offering you one. You take it, inhale slowly, the bitter taste blending with the night. Silence hangs for a while, until she breaks the tension with a question.

“So… how’s life treating you?” Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it, a genuine curiosity, like she really wants to understand.

You hesitate, thinking about how to answer. “I’m not sure if I’m doing it right, to be honest.”

She laughs quietly, but not mockingly. It’s more a sound of recognition, like she’s heard that many times before.

“Knew you’d say something like that,” she replies, blowing smoke to the side. “Most people aren’t sure. Everyone pretends they know what they’re doing, but really, we’re all just fumbling in the dark.”

You look at her, waiting for more. She seems to be building up to something bigger.

“See… the problem is, we’ve been taught to measure happiness the wrong way,” she says, her tone turning more serious now. “They made us believe that happiness is about having things. Buying a new car, getting a promotion, finding the perfect partner. And all that’s just temporary bullshit. When you get it, it’s great. It lasts for a while. And then?”

She pauses, as if giving you time to process. “Then you need something else. Another goal, another prize. Happiness has become this trophy we’re always chasing. But no one tells you the race never ends. It’s like working on a treadmill.”

“You think we shouldn’t chase those things?” you ask, trying to grasp where she’s headed.

She looks at you with an intensity that catches you off guard. “It’s not that we shouldn’t chase them. It’s that we should stop measuring our lives by them. What really matters is right now. We spend so much time trying to build a perfect future that we forget the present.”

She exhales slowly, as if each word comes from some deep, lived truth. “What happens when you reach all those goals and still feel empty? Modern culture, capitalism, they sell you this idea that you’re incomplete until you have everything. But no one tells you that ‘everything’ doesn’t exist.”

You stay silent for a moment, considering. It feels like she’s saying something that’s been lurking in the back of your mind, unspoken.

“So, what should we do? Just give up on all that?”

Nana gives a sly smile, like she’s been expecting the question. “It’s not about giving up. It’s about redefining what ‘everything’ means. For me, it’s this. The journey. The company. Not the destination. What you do now, in the moment, with the people you’re with... that’s what matters. Happiness is in what you do along the way, not what you achieve at the end.”

She flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the tip under her boot. “Once you start living in the present, you stop worrying so much about achieving the future. Because, one way or another, the future comes. And most people don’t even know what to do with it when it arrives.”

You stand there, staring out at the horizon, feeling the weight of her words. It’s a philosophy that challenges everything you’ve been trying to do since moving to this new city, trying to fit in, trying to find your path.

“So, what now?” you ask, more to yourself than to her.

She smiles, looking at you in a way that makes the air around you feel heavier. “Now? Now you finish that cigarette, enjoy the view, and stop worrying so much about what comes next.”

—

On the way back to the car, Nana stops suddenly, spinning on her heels with a provocative gleam in her eyes. “Get in the backseat,” she says, her voice soft but with an authority that leaves no room for questioning.

“Why?” you ask, unsure of her intent.

She smirks. “Just do what I’m asking.”

You hesitate for a second, but curiosity—and something else—wins out. You open the back door and slide onto the seat. You barely have time to adjust before Nana climbs in after you, straddling your lap without hesitation. The warmth of her body against yours is immediate, electric.

“You’ve been waiting for this all night, haven’t you?” Her question comes as a whisper in your ear, her lips barely brushing against the skin of your neck.

Before you can respond, she kisses you, and everything becomes a blur of lips and skin, your heart pounding in your chest. Her hands move down your body while yours trace the curves of hers, feeling every inch.

“You’re so hot,” you blurt out, unable to hold back.

She laughs, a low, confident sound. “I know,” she replies, her lips barely leaving yours.

Her movements grow bolder, her body pressing into yours, her hips grinding provocatively against you, making you even harder beneath her. She notices. “I drive you crazy, don’t I?”

All you can do is nod.

“I’m going to take the lead tonight,” she says, sliding down without breaking eye contact.

“Lead on,” you answer, giving in completely.

She kneels in the cramped space of the backseat, shrugs off her jacket for more comfort, and tosses it to the front seat. Then, with swift efficiency, Nana unbuttons your pants, pulling them down along with your boxers in one fluid motion. Your hard cock is now exposed, throbbing under the dim light of the car.

She wraps a hand around it, pausing for a moment as if admiring her work. “Mmm, big and thick,” she comments like she’s appreciating a piece of art. She leans down, placing a soft kiss on the tip, running her tongue slowly along it, teasing. “Relax,” she whispers, her eyes never leaving yours, “because now, I’m taking you to the edge.”

She starts slowly, teasing. The tip of her tongue circles the head as if testing your limits. “Did you expect to get a blowjob tonight?” She smiles but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll show you what it’s really like.”

Her tongue trails from the base of your cock, moving upwards agonizingly slowly, every movement deliberate. One hand grips you at the perfect spot, squeezing just enough to make you pulse, while the other fondles your balls, alternating between pleasure and pain in a rhythm that makes your mind spin.

You groan, the sounds escaping uncontrollably. “Fuck, Nana…” is all you can manage.

She pauses for a second, holding your cock against her face, rubbing it against her cheek. “This is what you’ve wanted from the start, isn’t it?” Her tone is a mix of teasing and command. “Seeing me down here, driving you crazy.”

Before you can answer, she takes you fully into her mouth, without warning, without preparation. Her hot mouth envelops every inch, the pressure perfect. She goes deep, as far as she can, not giving you a chance to breathe. You try to say something, but the sensation is too much.

She begins to move, her lips sliding up and down, with force and precision. “I want you to look at me,” she says, pulling you out of her mouth for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. “Watch what I’m doing.”

You obey, breathless, heart pounding in your chest.

She returns, this time more intense, sucking hard, obscene sounds filling the confined space of the car. Saliva drips down your cock, her hands working in sync, squeezing the base, each movement pulling you closer to the edge. She changes the pace again, speeding up, then slowing down, torturing you, keeping you on the brink of orgasm but not letting you go.

“You’ll only cum when I say so,” she declares, her mouth still around you, the words muffled but the command clear. “Understood?”

You can only nod, completely at her mercy. Every movement feels designed to extract the maximum amount of pleasure. Her hand is now firm on your balls, squeezing with precise control, while the other continues to guide the rhythm at the base of your cock. She speeds up again, sucking with a fervor that makes your vision blur.

“Fuck, Nana, I... I can’t anymore,” you moan, your whole body burning, muscles tense, pressure building.

“Not yet! Only when I allow it.”

Nana grips you harder now, almost brutally, her eyes locked on yours as she intensifies every movement. Her rhythm is relentless, no pauses, no mercy. Her hand squeezes the base of your cock as if she wants to wring every drop of pleasure from you. She knows what she’s doing, pushing you to the limit, not letting you breathe, not allowing you any control over what’s happening.

“Go on, I want to feel you lose control,” she whispers, her voice muffled as your cock slides deep into her mouth. The wet, filthy sound of each suck echoes through the car, mingling with your moans, now hoarser, more desperate. Her hand on your balls squeezes perfectly, making your vision darken at the edges.

She speeds up, her hot mouth sucking harder, her tongue swirling around the tip, teasing and pressing in all the right ways. Her other hand keeps your cock steady, controlling every inch that enters and leaves her mouth. You try to hold on, but she’s in command and won’t stop until she breaks you.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she says, her mouth still wrapped around you, each word making your cock throb more, pushing you closer to the edge. “I want you to cum now. In my mouth. I want to taste it.”

Your legs tremble, your whole body tense. The heat inside you grows, the pressure building until it feels impossible to hold on for another second. The control you tried to maintain disintegrates when Nana increases the intensity again, sucking with a force that makes you let out a deep moan.

“Nana, I’m going to...,” you can barely form the words, your entire body ready to explode.

“That’s right. Now you can,” she murmurs. Nana takes you all the way in, her throat tightening around your cock, and that sends you straight over the edge. Her hand grips your base firmly as she keeps sucking, drawing out every second of your orgasm. You have no choice anymore, your body gives in, and you feel the first wave of pleasure rip through you, your cock throbbing violently in her mouth.

You cum hard, your body shaking with intensity, muscles clenched as your cum explodes into her mouth. She doesn’t pull back, doesn’t hesitate. She keeps you deep, her mouth sealed, sucking every last drop, feeling every pulse. You feel the warmth of your own cum fill her mouth, and she doesn’t stop, still sucking, wanting more from you. She makes sure you give it all, every drop.

“That’s it... good boy,” she whispers between licks, her voice warm and husky, as the last spurt escapes, your body still trembling, exhausted.

She slowly pulls your cock out of her mouth, her lips sliding along the length in the process. Her eyes never leave you, dominant, satisfied.

“I told you I’d take you to the edge,” she says teasingly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, your taste still on her lips.

You’re buttoning up your pants, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is a whirlwind—everything feels surreal, like you’re watching from the outside. Nana is there, still with that lazy smile on her lips, as if she’d just done something casual, something she does with anyone. But you know that’s not true, she saw something in you. Though you’re not sure what.

“How do you feel?” Her question pulls you back to the car, to the moment.

You chuckle softly, a little incredulous. “Good... Too good, actually,” you answer, letting out a breath in a sigh that tries to release the tension.

“Great,” she says, reaching over the driver's seat to grab her jacket back. “That was the plan. And we’re just getting started.”

You look at her, confused. “Wait, there’s more?”

She laughs, tossing her hair back before sliding into the driver's seat. “Of course there’s more. I haven’t even had my turn yet.” She turns the key in the ignition, and the Impala roars to life like a beast awakening.

You join her in the front seat, grabbing another cigarette from the pack on the dashboard without thinking too much. The silence between you is comfortable now, almost conspiratorial. Nana glances at you from the corner of her eye, approving. “Light one for me too,” she says.

You obey, lighting both cigarettes and handing one to her. The smell of tobacco fills the car as the Impala rolls down the streets of the sleeping city. The engine hums, blending with the sound of tires on asphalt, a buzz that cradles the adrenaline.

Nana takes a long drag and exhales the smoke slowly, her eyes fixed on the road. “Ever gotten a blowjob in a car before?” The question comes casually.

“No,” you admit.

She smirks. “And how did it feel?”

You think for a second, the words swirling in your mind, trying to find something that captures what just happened. “Indescribable... Especially coming from someone as gorgeous as you.”

She laughs, a low laugh, like she expected that kind of compliment. “Thanks,” she says, with a hint of sarcasm. She shifts gears and speeds up a little more.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, trying to understand what else she has planned for the night.

Nana shrugs. “I don’t know. But there’s a gun in the glovebox, we could go out and rob some places... like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Too bad I’m a pacifist,” you joke, playing along.

She pouts mockingly, as if disappointed. “Of course you are... The best guys always are pacifists.” She winks, taking another drag before leaning in closer, the smoke mingling in the air between you. “But maybe we’ll find another way to have fun, huh?”

—

The Impala roars down the empty road, slicing through the quiet of the early morning like a blade. The city lights flicker in and out of view, passing as yellow and red blurs, while Nana drives with one hand on the wheel and the other holding her cigarette. Each time she inhales, the glowing tip briefly lights up her face, showing the smile that never leaves her lips.

She’s been talking for minutes, maybe hours—you’ve lost track of time. Her words are like smoke, wrapping around you in a philosophical fog that seems endless. “Freedom,” she says, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke out slowly, “isn’t what everyone thinks. It’s not doing what you want, when you want. No. It’s knowing that you’re nothing, nobody gives you a purpose. You’re free to create your own.”

You watch the streets go by, the low buildings and traffic lights blinking green. “Sartre,” she continues, never taking her eyes off the road, “he had this view... that we’re all condemned to be free. Like, the freedom to have to make choices, to live with those choices. There’s no ‘fate,’ just the shit you choose to do.”

You nod, not saying much, but taking in every word.

“Real freedom is knowing that all of this,” she gestures widely with her hand, indicating the city around you, “is meaningless. You, me, everyone. And still choosing what to do with it.”

The Impala turns onto a larger avenue now, lit by an endless string of streetlights. “We live in this invisible cage, you know? Jobs, money, house, car. But none of it matters, because in the end... nothing matters.” She smiles sideways, as if she’s just told the most tragic and funniest joke in the world.

You stay silent, processing. You’re not sure if you agree, but something about the way she speaks, the intensity with which she lives, makes sense. It’s like she’s living everything with such urgency that you have no choice but to keep up with her pace. It’s terrifying and addictive at the same time.

Another turn and you pull into an alley, where a neon LED sign marks a convenience store. Nana slows down and parks the car. “Second-to-last stop,” she says, turning off the engine and turning to you. “Convenience store. Let’s buy something to celebrate this condemned freedom.”

You step out of the car with her, the cool night air hitting your skin. She pulls the zipper of her jacket up again. “Tell me something,” she says as you walk toward the store entrance, “if you could do anything right now, with no consequences… what would you do?”

The question lingers, heavy, as she opens the store door. You don’t know how to respond, but the truth is, ever since you got into that car, it feels like you’ve been living exactly that: a night without consequences, a blur of unexpected freedom.

She grabs a soda from the fridge and tosses it to you. “Cheap philosophy, right? I promise I’ll stop here. Wait for me outside. Don't worry, I'll pay for your soda and buy some things and be right back.”

—

You’re leaning against the car’s hood, soda can in hand, but not really drinking. Suddenly, the convenience store door opens, and there’s Nana, but now she's holding something. It’s not what you expected—no bottles of beer or another round of cigarettes. She’s carrying a cake. Nothing fancy, just a white cake with frosting. And as she approaches, you can read what’s written, a bit crooked, in pink and blue icing: “Happy Birthday.”

You’re confused. “Happy birthday to me,” she says with a smile that tries to be casual, but you can see a hint of something deeper there.

“Wait, is it your birthday?” The question escapes before you can process it.

Nana lets out a short, humorless laugh, as if amused by your surprise. “Yeah, it’s today.” She waves the cake in front of you, almost like presenting proof. “Surprise, I guess.”

You straighten up, the soda can dangling loosely from your fingers. “Damn, happy birthday!” You hug her, awkward but sincere. The cake almost squashes between you, but she laughs again, this time genuinely. When she pulls away, you're full of questions. “But why… why are you spending your birthday with a stranger instead of, I don’t know, your friends, family?”

She shrugs, her eyes drifting for a second before returning to yours. “I don’t think anyone’s awake now to celebrate with me. I’ve got the whole day ahead for that. Right now, it’s just… my time. I was going to do this alone, you know? But then, I saw you alone at the bar and thought… maybe it would be nice. Maybe we could keep each other company.” She makes it sound simple, and maybe it is.

You watch as she places the cake on the hood of the car, like it’s the most natural setting for a celebration. She opens the packaging of a plastic knife—the flimsy kind that could snap at any moment trying to cut through tougher frosting—and starts slicing the cake right there, no ceremony, no ritual. Just a girl and a cake in a convenience store parking lot.

“I’ve only known you for a few hours, but this is so… you,” you comment.

“Good. You can lose everything, except your essence.”

As you take your first bite, the sweetness fills your mouth, but it’s the bitterness of the early morning that still lingers in the air. You’re eating cake in the middle of a parking lot, yet somehow, it’s the most meaningful cake you’ve ever had. She’s eating too, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the city lights blend into the dark sky.

“Everything I’ve said tonight,” she begins softly, “was more about me than you. I’m getting older, and these dates always make me think… reflect on everything. The choices. What could’ve been different, what still can be. I guess I was just trying to reaffirm something to myself.”

You look at her, chewing slowly. There’s something vulnerable in that moment, something you hadn’t seen in her until now. “Nana, you’re doing great,” you say, your words feeling a bit silly, but somehow, they make sense. “Look at you—you’re killing it.”

She smiles, but there’s a melancholy curve to her lips. “Yeah, maybe. Who knows.” She sighs, not out of exhaustion—more like someone shedding a weight they've carried for too long. “I always get reflective on my birthday. Maybe I just need to stop overthinking.”

You smile back, and something inside you, a light sense of urgency, makes you promise, “I’ll get you a present later.”

“You’re already my present,” she says, and then, with a quick move, she swipes some frosting and gently spreads it over your lips.

Before you can react, she kisses you. It’s sweet and warm, the taste of frosting mixing with the heat of her lips. And for a moment, you think of nothing—not the cake, not the parking lot, not the wild world. Just her.

She pulls you a little closer, and for a second, you get lost in the rhythm of her breathing, in the way her chest rises and falls, pressed against you. Nana’s hair falls over her face, and you feel its softness brushing against your skin.

When she finally pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes, your lips are still wet from the kiss. She quickly licks her own, as if savoring the moment. “This night…” she begins, her voice low, almost a whisper. “It’s been really great.”

You try to say something, but your mind is still spinning from the kiss, so you just manage to say, “Thanks… for pulling me out of my comfort zone.”

“The night’s not over yet, we still have so much to explore, so much to feel. And if you think that was stepping out of your comfort zone… just wait.” She pauses, her eyes drifting to your lips before locking onto yours again. “There’s more where that came from.”

You chuckle, not because it’s funny, but because it’s all you can do. The weight of her words feels lighter now, the tension between you both like an electric current that keeps flowing, even when you’re not touching. Her taste still lingers on your lips.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” you say, finally taking in a full breath, as if you’ve been holding it since the night began. “I didn’t know it, but… I needed it.”

She gives a small nod, as if she knew that all along. “I can feel the energy of the people around me. And when I saw you at that bar… you looked like you needed a different kind of night. Something… off the script. And now here we are.”

“Yeah… here we are.”

“But seriously,” she continues, her voice lower, almost confiding. “I wanted tonight to be good. And I’m glad you’re here with me. Truly.”

You run a hand through her hair, just a light touch, but it says everything. “I’m glad you chose me for this.”

“You were the best choice of the night. And now…” She glances around, as if looking for something, anything to pull you both back into the moment. “Let’s finish this cake before it melts on the hood.”

She scrapes a bit more frosting with her finger and brings it to her mouth, but before tasting it, she smears another dollop on your lips again, with a mischievous smile. “This time, I want you to kiss me.”

—

Nana drives in silence, the car gliding along the nearly empty road. The city lights fade behind you, and the cool night air begins to seep in through the slightly open window. You feel the freshness, the smell of asphalt and dew-covered grass. She doesn’t say much, just smiles occasionally, as if she knows exactly what's coming and wants to savor your curiosity. And you, lost in your own thoughts, can only wonder where she's taking you now.

"It's a place where we can really relax," she says, breaking the silence. "You'll see. I promise."

Minutes later, you pull up in front of a motel. It's not one of those seedy places you see in mafia movies, but it's no five-star hotel either. The neon lights blink in soft tones, and the sign above the entrance looks a bit old, but well-maintained. You recognize the place by sight, but you never imagined you'd find yourself here. Nana pulls the handbrake in a swift, almost automatic motion and looks at you.

"Shall we?" She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car, and you follow.

Inside, the lobby is small and discreet. A receptionist behind the counter doesn’t even look up from the book she's reading while Nana handles everything. In minutes, you’re climbing the stairs, walking through narrow hallways with striped wallpaper. There's a strange calm in the air.

When you both enter the room, it’s... normal. No surprises, just a wide double bed covered with white sheets and a brown bedspread. A lamp in the corner casts a soft light, and the curtains are thick enough to keep the outside world at bay. In the background, a TV is mounted on the wall, a small fridge nearby, and the inevitable mirror above the headboard—a cliché the motel couldn’t resist.

Nana kicks off her shoes and jacket in seconds, almost like she's at home. She walks over to the bed and, without hesitation, jumps onto it, sinking into the sheets.

"Good," she says, looking at you lazily, "I hope you know how to make the birthday girl happy. You know what I mean, right?"

You give a half-smile, a bit awkward, and walk to the bed, sitting on the edge. The feel of the soft mattress under you eases some of the tension in your body. She reaches out and touches your arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "No need to rush."

She gets up and goes to the small light control on the wall. With a click, a soft neon glow, in shades of pink and purple, fills the room, replacing the lamp’s light. Now, the room has a warm, intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

She returns to the bed, this time with two small bottles of tequila she found in the mini-fridge. She hands one to you, opening hers with a pop.

"Shall we toast?" She raises her bottle in the air. "To unexpected nights... and the best company."

You raise yours too. "To the most interesting birthday girl I've ever met."

You drink, and the alcohol burns its familiar path down your throat, spreading warmth through your body. She lets out a soft laugh, that laugh you know so well, and moves closer. The closeness between you grows, not just physically, but in a way you can’t quite explain. As if, with every sip, every exchanged glance, something deeper is being built.

"I like this," she says, her voice soft, almost melancholic. "Being here, now. With you. It feels like... like I've finally stopped running for a second, you know? Like life pressed pause so I could breathe."

You feel the warmth of her hand on yours and gently squeeze it. "And I like that you pulled me out of my own head for a night."

She smiles, her eyes glowing under the neon light.

The tension between you grows, but it’s not rushed. It’s slow, almost like a rhythm you’ve created together. She leans in and kisses you, this time with a softness that suggests it's not just desire—it’s connection.

She pulls back, looking into your eyes, as if she’s studying every part of you. "From now on, the birthday girl is all yours."

Then she sighs, looking at you with those eyes that, until now, always seemed in control. But now, for the first time, they seem to be surrendering to you.

She gently takes the tequila bottle from your hand and places it on the bedside table along with hers. Standing, Nana’s hands move to the hem of her tank top, and in a slow, almost ritualistic gesture, she lifts it over her head. The fabric slides down her skin like it's nothing, and suddenly, she’s exposed. Her slender body, the tattoos, her small, almost non-existent breasts, raw beauty without pretense. She sits at the edge of the bed, vulnerable for the first time.

"Do you like what you see?" she asks as she lies down on the bed. She’s not in control now.

For now.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand up, just to be able to look down at her, feeling the power of the situation shift. She stays there, lying down, waiting, in a long, tension-filled pause. You want her even more because of it.

Nana looks at you, biting her lower lip, impatient but silent. And then, with a brief smile, you lean over her. Your hands go straight to her neck, firm but not aggressive. Just enough for her to feel that you're in charge. She closes her eyes, her breath quickening as you lower your head and begin kissing her skin—first her neck, then her shoulders. Your touch is slow, every movement deliberate, and she melts bit by bit. She moans as your lips trail down to her breasts. You open your mouth, teasing her skin with your tongue, tracing the outline of her small, dark areolas. Nana sighs, eyes closed, wordless now. She’s passive, completely surrendered, her moans soft and ragged.

"Keep going..." she murmurs, barely audible.

You obey, but at your own pace. You take one of her breasts in your hand, gently squeezing while sucking on the other, your tongue playing with her nipple. Nana arches her back, trying to move against you, but your hands on her hips keep her in place. She struggles, impatient, but you don’t let her. "Slow down, Nana," you whisper, your voice controlled, almost cold. "The night is ours."

She laughs, a short, shaky laugh. "You bastard..." she says, but there’s amusement in her voice, an acceptance of the role she’s now playing. "Are you going to make me beg?"

"Only if you want to," you reply, your lips returning to her breasts, alternating between them now, nibbling harder, your tongue circling the areolas. She moans louder, finally surrendering completely to the situation.

Nana lets out a long sigh, her fingers twisting into the sheets as you move over her with more intensity, and her breathing becomes erratic. "Damn, this... this is..." She can barely form a sentence. "This feels so fucking good..."

She tries to squirm, seeking more contact, but you hold her down again, keeping her in place. And for the first time, she doesn’t fight back. She accepts it, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Then comes the moment. "Now I need you to eat me out," she says. And of course, you oblige. Her pants slide down her legs, and when you see it, there’s that wet spot on her white panties. You hold back the anticipation for a moment as you undress, there’s no rush, and that teases Nana in a fun way. Now free of any fabric, you trace your fingers over her panties, feeling the warmth, the moisture, while your lips travel down her thighs, following a path that leads you closer to what you really want.

She moans softly, but just enough to let you know you’re doing it right. Every second of anticipation is killing her, and she likes it. Until it becomes unbearable, and she squeezes her thighs around your head, whispering, "Lick me already. Come on, I’m about to explode."

When you pull off her panties, it’s like peeling away the last layer of something much deeper. The air in the room feels heavier, and her scent fills the space like a wild, addictive perfume. You kneel between her legs, the warm skin of her inner thighs pressing lightly on either side of you. Every breath she takes, every swallowed moan, brings you closer, deeper. Your tongue moves slowly, first lightly, as if testing, tasting the contours. The wet heat pulsing inside her precedes something big, something that’s going to break when you finally open the floodgates.

"Don’t stop..." she whispers, surrendered. "More... deeper."

You comply. Your tongue works as if following a rhythm only the two of you know. Its tip finds that exact spot, and Nana arches, her hips trembling, as if every muscle in her body is short-circuiting, rebelling. She moans louder now, unashamed, uncontrolled.

"Like that... don’t stop, fuck, keep going..." Her voice blends with her breathing, her moans becoming more spaced, almost suffocated.

You feel her taste growing stronger, the moisture increasing in your mouth, on your lips, and then, without warning, Nana’s entire body contracts. Her muscles tighten, her legs squeeze your head hard, and she cums, a muffled scream escaping her throat. Her body trembles, her hips spasming involuntarily, and you keep going, knowing it’s not over. Not for her.

"Fuck... this... my god..." She moans through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut, her whole body vibrating as if she’s in another dimension. And you continue, your tongue sliding faster, deeper, until she lets out a final moan, long, drawn-out, as if exorcizing everything inside her.

When you come back up, her taste is still fresh in your mouth. You kiss her, her tongue meeting yours, and she tastes herself on your lips.

"You... fuck... you drove me crazy," she says, her voice weak but still full of intent. She looks at you, her eyes bright, satisfied, then she smiles. "Now... fuck me. Fuck me like it’s the last thing you’re going to do today."

She turns over on all fours, her knees sinking into the mattress with that natural movement, without hesitation. The invitation doesn’t need words; it’s all in the gesture, in the way her hips raise, her spine arched just enough to drive you completely insane. The tattoos scattered across her slim body come alive under the soft room light, every line of the design blending with the shadows, while her desire escapes in small sighs.

You grab her hips, your fingers digging into the soft flesh as if trying to anchor her to the moment. The first thrust is slow, almost a test, and Nana lets out a low moan, something between pleasure and provocation. She loves feeling the tension building in you and pushes back, forcing you to go deeper.

"That’s it..." she murmurs through gritted teeth, "harder."

You obey. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her moans, growing louder each time. The pace quickens, you pull her closer, burying yourself deeper, while Nana moves against you, her hips meeting yours with perfect precision at each thrust. The sheets bunch up beneath her, and her moans turn into something almost animalistic, a rough sound that makes her body tremble.

"Fuck..." she moans, her head dropping forward, hair falling into her face. "Fuck me faster."

You grip her hips harder, her body responding to yours with absolute submission. Every movement is an exchange—a silent request, an inevitable response. Her moans become more erratic, the bed creaking with the frantic rhythm you both reach. Her whole body tense, the muscles in her back and thighs contracted, almost falling apart under your hands.

Suddenly, she stops, breaking the rhythm, and turns around. Her gaze is wild, a mix of excitement and challenge. "Now let me do it my way."

She climbs on top of you, her knees sinking into the mattress next to your hips, and the sight is mesmerizing. Nana looks down at you, her eyes half-closed, lips parted, as she slowly lowers herself, feeling every inch of you filling her again. She lets out a heavy sigh and starts moving, first slow, controlled, her hips rising and falling with calculated precision, almost cruel.

"You like watching me like this?" she asks, her voice raspy, full of satisfaction.

All you can do is nod. And she smiles, that smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Nana picks up the pace, her hips slamming against yours with force, riding you without a shred of inhibition. Her hands find your chest, nails lightly scratching your skin, her face twisted in pure pleasure. She leans forward, her small breasts pressed against you, her mouth close to your ear as she whispers, her voice broken by moans.

"You... are... perfect."

Nana's hands grip your shoulders, her hips riding your cock with the precision of someone who knows their body well. But it won’t last like this. Not for long. You need to take control. "My turn," you whisper against her ear. She lets out a low moan, a half-smile, like she was waiting for it.

She climbs off of you. You both adjust, lying on your sides, legs intertwined, and you pull her closer, your mouth on her neck, tasting her sweaty skin, the scent of desire mixing with the heat of the room. "Closer," you say, as your hands travel down her tattooed hips, pulling her into you. Nana doesn’t hesitate, grinding her hips, sinking deeper into you, her eyes half-closed, mouth open, moaning.

"You like it like this, don’t you?" you ask, one hand sliding to her neck. She turns her head to look over her shoulder, that same half-cynical, half-hungry smile.

"I love it," she murmurs, and then your fingers lightly tighten around her throat. Nothing violent, just enough for her to feel the pressure. It makes her moan even louder, her body reacting, giving in to the control you’ve taken. "Harder," she asks, eyes shutting like she's lost in her own satisfaction.

You squeeze a little more, controlling the intensity with the same precision you control the thrusts. Each time you bury yourself inside her, she grips the sheets, her whole body tense with pleasure. The heat of her skin, the way she moves against you, the sound of her moans muffled by your hand... all of it makes you lose track of anything else.

"You’re so fucking hot," you say, your entire body focused on how she’s giving herself to you. She moans in response, but her words are getting more fragmented, harder to get out. You release her neck for a second, just to let her breathe better. She swallows hard and lets out a short laugh, almost in disbelief.

"Fuck, you’re gonna make me come again," she confesses, and you realize you’re almost there too. You pull out of her, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling Nana into your lap, and she climbs back on top of you. The heat of her skin against yours is instant, and you feel her entire body mold to yours like a second skin. Your feet are planted firmly on the floor, ready for the intensity of Nana’s hips. Her hands grip your shoulders, and her pussy sinks down slowly on your cock with a precision that’s pure wickedness.

The room is a mess of discarded clothes, crumpled sheets, and the scent of sex hanging in the air.

She settles in, adjusts, and then starts riding, slow at first, almost like she’s teasing, savoring the moment.

"Mmm, I knew you’d like it when I ride you… Mmm, yeah, I bet it has become your favorite position…" she murmurs, her voice low, while her nails lightly scratch your shoulders, her ass moving with pinpoint accuracy on your cock. The sensation is overwhelming, the tight, wet grip as if she was made for this.

You hold onto her hips tightly, fingers sinking into her skin, pulling her closer, deeper. "Fuck, Nana… You’re so good," you blurt out, not even realizing the words slipped out.

She lets out a little laugh, muffled by the sound of bodies colliding. "I know," she replies, and you can feel her ego swelling alongside the pleasure she’s giving you. She picks up the pace, and now there’s nothing gentle about it. No. Now it’s skin on skin, the sound of flesh against flesh, and her ass moving fast, faster, her moans coming in waves, louder and louder.

You feel everything. Her weight in your lap, her hips rising and falling in a rhythm only she controls. The way she moans when you pull her even closer, when you force the thrusts to go deeper. The sensation is brutal. You can barely think, barely speak, all you can do is moan along with her, your bodies drenched in sweat and pleasure.

"You like it when I do this, don’t you?" she gasps, her hair falling messily across her face as she rides you like she’s competing with her own pleasure. "You love it when I sit on your cock, right?"

You can only nod. Any attempt to speak would be a pathetic moan at this point.

She leans forward, her lips at your ear, her breath hot and ragged. "I’m gonna come like this… right in your lap," she whispers, like it’s a dirty secret. "And you’re gonna come with me. Together."

And there’s no escaping it. She’s pulling you along, dragging you down with her, every movement sinking you both deeper into this shared haze of raw pleasure.

Nana speeds up, riding with an almost desperate urgency now, her moans turning into muffled screams, her nails clawing at your back, leaving marks. With each thrust, you feel like you’re about to lose your mind, like the pleasure is tearing you apart from the inside.

Nana leans forward, her hair falling loose across her face, her hands braced on your shoulders as she picks up speed, and it’s like the world is melting around you. Each time she comes down on your cock, the sound of flesh slapping together is almost deafening. Her ass slides so perfectly in your lap it feels like you were made for this.

"Fuck, Nana…," you let out, almost without control, gripping her hips, pulling her even deeper, feeling your cock completely swallowed up. "I’m gonna come..."

She smirks, a wicked, crooked grin, as she keeps riding you with an almost violent intensity. "Come inside me."

Your hands slide down her sweaty back, fingers digging into her flesh, and you can only nod, speechless, your breathing ragged, your body already trembling, about to collapse. She leans in, her words a whisper against your ear: "Come with me… I want your hot cum in my tight little pussy."

And then it happens. Her body shakes, and yours follows, and everything implodes. You feel the spasm that grips her, her pussy tightening around you in a way that knocks the breath out of you, and that’s it. There’s no turning back. You come with a force that feels like it’s ripping your soul out of your body, filling her up, each thrust spilling more. Nana screams your name, or at least something that sounds like it, and she sinks down one last time, slowly, sitting fully on your cock, feeling every drop of your cum inside her.

"Fuck, Nana…" is all you can manage as the world comes back into focus, your body exhausted but still buzzing with the intensity of it all.

You stay like that, quiet, your bodies still pressed together, breathing heavy, trying to find a normal rhythm again. The room is drowned in silence, the kind of silence that only exists when the noise was so loud before it feels almost unreal now. You’re still inside her. You can feel the soft, steady heat of Nana’s body around your cock, a warmth that pulses slowly, matching the rapid beat of your heart. She doesn’t move, just stays there, relaxed against your body.

"It feels so good having you inside me like this," she says, almost like letting go of a secret, her voice low, muffled, without her usual brazen confidence. You smile, still catching your breath, and you feel a trickle of your hot cum running down your cock. "It’s your birthday, but I’m the one who got the gift," you reply. "Thank you. For this amazing night. For the conversation. For the sex. For getting to know you, Nana."

She stays quiet for a second, and you feel her body tense a little against yours. Like she’s embarrassed. Nana? Embarrassed? It’s almost funny. You can hardly believe it, but there it is, the slight blush on her cheeks, the way she looks off to the side. And before you can say more, she kisses you. A quick kiss, but full of urgency. Like she wants to stop whatever words you were about to spill.

"Shut up, idiot," she mutters against your lips, a little laugh escaping her.

You pull her a little closer, savoring the last remnants of the moment, not wanting to break whatever it is you’ve just created together. She sighs, relaxing even more, as if she’s finally let her body collapse after holding it all together for so long.

"This was a gift for me too," she finally says, letting out the laugh she’d been holding back. "And what a gift, huh? I didn’t think it’d be so... memorable." The word comes out with her typical sarcasm, but there’s a layer of real gratitude hidden beneath that tough exterior.

"I’d say the same," you reply, your voice a little lighter, your body finally slowing down, though still electrified by the feeling of being inside her.

Then, suddenly, she lets out a quiet, mischievous giggle. "Can you feel it?" she asks. "Can you feel how full of cum I am?"

She slowly climbs off your lap, placing one foot on the bed, her eyes locked on you as she spreads her legs. "Look at this," she murmurs, using two fingers to part her pussy lips, letting the cum start to drip out. "Wow, you really filled me up." The liquid drips down her fingers as she teases, "What’s better than a creampie for a birthday?”

—

You wake up to the soft light filtering through the motel curtains, making everything seem a little more golden, like the place was painted by an artist obsessed with warm tones. Your body feels heavy, but relaxed, your mind floating between dream and reality, the memory of last night still buzzing in your muscles, your skin, in the scent of Nana that seems to have fused with the air.

You barely move, and you can already feel it. She’s there. Pressed up against you. Skin on skin. Your naked bodies intertwined in a way that makes it seem like you’ve always known how to fit together, like you’re not strangers, like this isn’t the first time. And then, without warning, you feel her lips. First, a soft kiss on your chest, like she’s exploring the territory again, testing the waters. Then, the kiss travels up to your neck, and suddenly, her lips are on yours, warm and hungry. She doesn’t need to say anything. The way she kisses you says it all.

You finally open your eyes, your body starting to wake up, though you’re already fully awake where it matters. “Nana, you need to stop,” you joke, your voice raspy, trying to sound more relaxed than you really are. “You’re going to get me obsessed with you. And later, I’ll remember this and want more.”

She laughs, her lips still on yours, a quiet giggle that you feel vibrate against your mouth. “Who said we’re done here?” she whispers, gently tugging on your bottom lip with her teeth before letting it go. “Maybe I’m just getting started.”

“So, you want to see me again?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, testing the waters.

She raises an eyebrow, like the question is ridiculous. “After a night like that? Of course I want to see you again. Many times, actually.” She bites her lip, her gaze a little challenging, like she’s already planning something, and you know she is. She always is.

Without warning, Nana reaches for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocks it and smiles, a mischievous smile. She opens the camera and points it at you both. “Let’s capture this moment.”

You frown, still half-asleep, half-disbelieving. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I am.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “A night like this deserves a keepsake, don’t you think?” She doesn’t wait for your answer. Her finger is already on the button, ready to take the picture.

The idea feels strange, but you go with it. You snuggle up to her, both of you smiling for the camera, like it’s something you do all the time. She snaps the photo, the two of you grinning, with no pretense. Just warm skin, relaxed bodies. Then, she takes another. This time, you tilt your head and kiss Nana, the sensation more vivid, with a clarity that comes with daylight, when everything feels more real, less driven by the adrenaline of the moment.

When the camera’s click finally falls silent, she tosses the phone aside and leans back against you, eyes closed, body relaxed. “This is going to be a good memory,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that makes you believe her.

She shifts, the sheet slipping slightly, and you feel the warmth of her skin against yours. Nana settles more into you, a slow, almost deliberate movement. She lets out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and you feel her smile against your neck.

“I can feel it,” she says, her voice warmer now, closer to a whisper. “You’re already hard for me.” And then, as if to prove her point, she adjusts her body again, rubbing against you like she’s discovered a new toy and can’t resist.

You sigh, half pleasure, half yearning. “Yeah, I’m horny,” you admit, no beating around the bush. There’s something about the way she’s pressed against you, the smell of her hair mingling with the room’s air, that erases any notion of self-control.

“Good,” she says, as if that’s exactly what she was waiting for. “How about a nice blowjob to start the day?”

You already know the answer, but you stay silent for a second, your mind processing the almost ridiculous simplicity of the proposal, the casual way she talks about it, like she’s asking what you want for breakfast. It’s something you love about this now not-so-strange girl. So finally, you open your mouth. “Yes, please.”

She giggles, the kind of giggle that’s full of mischief, of pure fun. She leans over you, her hand trailing down your stomach to your cock, her fingers cool against your warm skin. “I knew you’d say that,” she murmurs, almost to herself, as she starts to move slowly down your body, like she’s studying your every reaction.

Nana crawls down to your hips, her movements slow, lazy, like she has all the time in the world, and then lowers her head. Her lips touch the tip of your cock first, a kiss almost chaste, before she opens her mouth and takes you in.

—

The sun is already up, it's around nine in the morning. You're in the car next to Nana after a night that felt like it came straight out of a dirty and perfect dream. The motel is left behind like a distant memory, a blur of neon and crumpled sheets. Now, you're parked in front of your house, and reality is there, knocking at the door.

Breakfast helped you get your energy back. You had to insist on paying. It was the least you could do. Nana didn’t want to accept it, but at some point, she got tired of arguing. Though, you know she doesn't really care about that kind of thing. She doesn’t seem like someone who worries about small formalities. But for you, paying for breakfast was your way of thanking her for more than just the night. It was for a temporary collapse of everything you knew.

She leans against the steering wheel, her slender fingers drumming on it. "We’ll talk on Insta, I’ll send you the photos there too," she says, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

You smile, still a bit dazed, your muscles tired from all the pleasure and exhaustion. "That’d be great." You smile, not sure what to say in these final minutes. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Nana. I mean that."

She turns to you. “I liked meeting you too, you’re a nice guy.”

The words come out with the casualness of someone who's been through this before, but with a sincerity that makes you believe that, even if it’s fleeting, it was special in some way.

You watch her, her profile illuminated by the morning light, and realize how something so simple, a chance encounter, can turn your day, your week, maybe even your life, upside down if you let it.

"Happy birthday again," you say, your hand already on the door handle.

"Thanks," she replies. “I hope the rest of my day is as interesting as it’s been so far.”

You laugh, unsure if she's being serious or joking. But then, just before getting out of the car, something pulls you back, a final question you have to ask. "But... what now, Nana? What do we do?"

She looks at you with that smile, the one you’ve already learned to associate with the unpredictable. "Now?" She pauses, starting the car, her eyes focused on the road. "Now, we just jump to the next night and see what we find."

Of course. You knew she’d say something like that. You nod, a smile forming on your face, because there’s nothing more to say. You step out of the car, feeling different somehow, even though everything around you looks exactly the same as before.

Nana waves slightly, and you stand there, watching the car disappear around the corner, knowing that last night was just one among many that could happen.

738 notes · View notes

remlionheart · 10 months ago

Text

Anonymous asked:

PLZZZZ i beg you smoking sesh w megumi

♡‧₊˚ ask and you shall receive ✩࿐࿔ it's been a while since i've done a meg drabble and out of all of the different drugs we've explored on this page, this just made me realize that i've never written about weed lol so thank u for the suggestion this was really fun to write <333 home from college au. heavy we-shouldn't-be-doing-this trope. aged up characters. fem!reader x ((the peoples’ husband)), *⟡toxic!megumi*⟡ 3.2k words. porn with a plot. angst. degradation and praise. stoned sex. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ‎‎♡‧₊˚

❀ MDNI ❀

keep me h i g h ₊⊹

now playing: wet dreams ☾₊˚

⊹₊ ⋆✿

It'd been four months since the last time you'd seen Megumi.

Between college and the city lines that separated you, the two of you had cut almost every tie that once kept you connected. It was strange to think about sometimes - how quickly you'd gone from being the person he spent almost every weekend with to being nothing more than a fly on the wall of his social media, occasionally liking his posts but never getting anything back in return.

You tried to remind yourself that it shouldn't have been a surprise. Your relationship with him had never been easy. All throughout high-school you'd fallen into the same pattern of push and pull with him, his feelings everchanging and impossible to keep up with.

He'd kiss you in private and ignore you in public. Tell you that you were just friends and sneak through your window on the nights he didn't want to be alone. Run his hand along your back until you had fallen asleep and leave without so much as a "goodbye".

As painful as it was, a part of you had almost been relieved when things finally ended. No more pushing, no more pulling - just you and the new town you'd moved to. You and the new friends you'd made. You and your new fresh start. You still wanted the best for him despite everything, but you also wanted the best for yourself too. And deep down, you knew that didn't involve drunken hook-ups and empty words.

You hummed as you stepped out of the shower, the smell of coconut shampoo and lavender body wash dancing around you. It was unexpectedly comforting to be back home, even if it was only for a few days. Your roommates had tried to talk you out of coming back to Tokyo for fall break, but you knew you couldn't do that to your parents. You were certain there would be another time for going out and Halloween house parties.

Your room was still exactly the same as you'd left it - a mess of purple blankets on your bed and off white string-lights decorating the walls. Clothes that you'd left behind still hanging in your closet along with a stack of old journals. Tarot cards and candles and framed pictures of you and your friends sitting atop your dresser. It was nice to know that it still felt like your safe haven despite months of not seeing it.

You continued humming the same song that you'd started in the shower as you slipped on a baby-blue tank top, pairing it with your favorite silk pajama shorts. You lit a couple of candles and cracked the window open, letting crisp October air swirl through your room before turning off the overhead light and crawling into bed.

A cozy sense of nostalgia crept over you as you nestled into your bed and pulled out your phone.

Just like when you lived here, you were the only one still up after a movie had put both of your parents to sleep. You were mid-scroll, debating on what Youtube rabbit hole you wanted to go down for the night when a text popped up that immediately put you in an upright position again.

⋆｡˚ ☁️˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

⋆｡˚ ☁️ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

You called him as soon as his last text came through, but he sent you straight to voicemail. "fushiguro," you texted frantically, "seriously", "you can't do this".

You were out of bed and on your feet before you even knew what you were doing, rushing to lock your door as you quickly realized that there was no such thing as reasoning with him.

Your life had changed in an assortment of ways since you'd left and judging by the way he texted you, he had to know that too. The last picture you posted before coming back was of you and a boy that you'd been seeing for the last month. It was mostly casual, neither one of you quite ready to put a label on what you were doing, but it still made your stomach flutter thinking about seeing Megumi when you were actively sleeping with someone else.

You dialed his number again, only to immediately hang up. Your heart suddenly lodged in your throat when you noticed that you could hear the call ringing from both inside and outside of your room.

You watched his slender fingers loop under the base of your already cracked window, stealthily pushing it up like he'd done so many times before. A sea of memories flooded over you as he pulled himself up, swiftly swooping both of his legs into your room before projecting the rest of his body forward and landing perfectly in place, hardly make a sound.

The low glow of your string-lights grazed his face, the prettiest shade of blue meeting your stare while the two of you took a moment to study the person in front of you.

"Your parents really need to invest in a better security system."

You hated the laugh that escaped you. The slight smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. The way your blood still danced in your veins at just the sight of him.

So much had changed in the last four months and yet, here you both were.

"Surely you didn't come all the way over here just to critique our home safety." You whispered.

"Seems like someone should." He countered, following behind you as you took a seat on the side of the bed.

He fished a joint and a lighter out of the front pocket of his jacket before tossing it onto the floor, leaving him in a black v-neck that accentuated his arms. He'd always been toned, but it was obvious that he'd been training a lot harder since you left - his shoulders and chest noticeably more defined than the last time you'd seen him. You'd never say it aloud given their relationship, but the older he got the more and more he seemed to resemble his dad.

"Bring your fan over here." He said, breaking your train of thought.

You nodded, staying light on your feet as you brought it over and aimed it at the window before reaching into the back of your dresser to grab an ashtray that you'd had stashed away since sophomore year. It was like no time had passed at all as you took a seat next to him again, setting the ashtray on your nightstand while he twirled the joint between his fingers.

You weren't sure why, but there was something about the way he brought it to his lips and flicked his lighter that created a dull ache at your center. Everything about him was so pretty and so nonchalant, effortlessly detached and infuriatingly nice to look at.

"Does your new boyfriend smoke?"

Your eyes instantly snapped to his, watching a plume of smoke trail felicitously from his mouth as he looked back at you. "Doesn't really look like the type who would." He added with a slight raise of his brow.

You didn't like anything about the question - from that fact that he had the audacity to ask it to his lethargic tone to the emphasis on the word "new", as if he was trying to imply that you'd been dating someone before you left.

You clicked your tongue to your cheek, letting out a huff as you snatched the joint from his lips. "You're insufferable." You repeated, drawing in a deep inhale.

The truth was, the boy you'd been seeing didn't smoke pot and you hadn't either since you'd started college, but there was no way you were admitting that to him. You took another hit, keeping your attention fixated on the window as your fan circulated the smoke out and pushed it into the night sky.

"I'll take that as a no." He whispered, his leg lightly nudging yours as he leaned over and plucked the joint from your fingers this time.

"Why are you here?" You finally asked, a sharp edge growing in your voice. "You were the one that quit talking to me, you know that right? You didn't even bother saying goodbye and then you just show up unannounced like nothing happened and ask me about my life and who I'm seeing and..." The weed was starting to hit you, your body suddenly heavy and your mind dizzy with a confusing mix of intoxication and irritation. "I just... Why? I mean, what's the point of any of this?"

A rare somber expression took over, softening his usual concrete features as he ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I don't know..." His gaze was glossy, his mind equally as hazy as yours. "I didn't know what to say when you left so I didn't say anything. It seemed easier that way, for both of us."

"But it wasn't –"

"I know." His demeanor was unexpectedly gentle despite how firm his tone was. "I'm sorry."

The room felt like it was spinning, his apology making something inside you ache. It was the first time in the three years you'd known him that he'd ever said it. That he'd ever actually admitted or acknowledged to hurting your feelings and even if the bar was in literal hell, it still felt good to hear those words finally leave his mouth.

"What else?" You pressed.

He took a moment to look you over, his eyes tentatively roaming along your face. “I missed you." He said honestly.

You'd never met anyone besides him who was capable of sounding so sincere and so indifferent at the same time.

"Missed your stupid laugh. Missed the way you'd always call me when you were drunk." He leaned in closer, his hand carefully taking the joint from yours as he set it on the ashtray and rested his palm on the back of your neck.

"Missed being in your room like this..." His voice dropped down to a low whisper, fanning lecherously across your skin. “Missed the feeling of you wrapped around me…”

“Megumi… we can’t…”

But you still let him close the already small gap between you anyway, his lips ghosting yours as you breathed him in. The familiar scent of false promises and expensive cologne flooding your senses.

"I know you.” He said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You wouldn’t have texted me back if you didn’t want to.”

"I –" His words were going straight to your center, the dull ache from earlier blossoming into an unignorable throb as his hand gradually trailed up your thigh. "I didn't –"

"Wouldn’t have posted that you were back in town if you didn’t want me to know…" His fingers were toying with the fabric of your shorts, methodically pushing them to the side. "Wouldn’t have left your window open if you wanted to be alone…”

Your ability to hold yourself together was threatening to buckle at any moment between the feeling of his grip tangling into your hair and his lips continuing to tortuously graze yours.

“And you definitely wouldn’t be this fucking wet if you really didn’t want me here…”

Your heart was slamming into your chest so hard you were almost afraid he'd hear it.

He kept his eyes locked with yours, watching the last bit of composure you had vanish entirely as he slipped past the thin barrier of your underwear and gained access to your weakest point.

Your movements betrayed your sentiment, a helpless whimper escaping you while your hips gravitated up towards his hand, practically begging for more.

"Look at you," he breathed, his middle finger drawing soft, heavenly circles between your thighs. "All that time without seeing each other and you still fall apart for me so easily. Why is that?"

Another heady little noise entered into the small space between you as you fought to keep your moans from getting any louder. You hadn't been this high in months. Your insides felt like they were on fire as he dipped down, just barely prodding at your entrance. But the more you tried to get from him, the more he pulled away. Unwilling to comply with your body's demands until you answered his question.

"Tell me." It was venom mixed with honey. Torment mixed with pleasure. He had you right where he wanted you - desperate and pining. Forced to give him what he wanted in exchange for what you needed. "Let me hear you fucking say it."

You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, doing everything you could not to whine when the tip of his finger gently slid into you and then stopped without warning - gracing you with just enough to finally bring you to your breaking point.

"I wanted to see you." you said breathlessly, your pupils widening as you felt him push slightly deeper.

"What else?" He taunted, using your words against you.

"I wanted you – here." You yelped, your voice splitting as he sank in further.

You were delirious, ready to actually plead if that's what it took to get him to cave. "I want – fuck, Megumi, please just –"

He was half-way in, teetering on the verge of letting you have it as long as you could get the next sentence out.

"Say it."

"I want you inside me." It poured out so fast, it was barely even coherent. "I want you inside of m...e – so fu–cking bad, please."

Your chest pressed against his in an urgent daze, pulling him closer while his lips met yours - neither one of you able to withstand the tension for a second longer. His movements matched your fervency as he added another finger, finally letting your walls swallow him.

He deepened the kiss, trying his best to keep you quiet while your hips rocked rhythmically against him.

"So pretty and pitiful" he whispered, lightly nipping at your collarbone. "You're already almost there. You sure you can handle me being inside you?"

You nodded hopelessly back at him.

"I can... take – it." You struggled, feeling him smirk into your neck as his thumb brushed against your clit, drawing out even poutier noises from you. "Promise."

"Prove it."

His tongue swirled lavishly into the softness of your clavicle, leaving little bruises in the shape of his mouth while his fingers continued to plunge innnn and out of you at the same heavenly pace.

"There you go." He breathed, promptly returning his lips back to yours as he felt your thighs begin to shake. "Just like that, don't fucking stop."

You hated how well he knew you. Hated how easily he was able make you clench and spasm around him. You were soaking his hand, burying your face into his shoulder to stop yourself from waking up the entire house.

"Oh, my fucking... god, Megumi –" Your nails dug into his back, your body nearly vibrating with pleasure as you grinded against him.

“It's okay, I've got you." He whispered, letting you cling onto him as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. You'd always been submissive, but he wasn't sure that he'd ever seen you quite this needy before.

He slowly pulled out of you, guiding you down to the bed before standing up to grab the joint out of the ashtray, lighting it one last time.

He leaned down, locking eyes with you while gently cupping your face. His lips just barely touching yours so that you were forced to share the same breath, allowing you to inhale the smoke he exhaled as he helped you out of your shorts.

"Such a good girl."

Your back arched, immediately wanting him back where he was as he got to his feet and set the spliff on your nightstand. You watched him intently, your core throbbing while he began to unbutton his pants. You were blissfully high, your mind swirling with sleepy infatuation and pent-up lust.

He almost seeming amused, noticing how entranced you were as his stripped out of his boxers. Tauntingly stroking himself while he used his free hand to push your both of your thighs onto the mattress so that you were on your back facing him with your legs folded to the side. You couldn’t help but smile as he rubbed his tip between your folds, letting out a low groan as he wetted himself with your slick.

“Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

Your hand tangled into the sheets, your body reeling from the way his tip was already stretching you.

"You gotta stay quiet for me." He reminded you, trying to heed his own advice as he slid in slightly further. “Pretty sure your dad will actually kill me if he catches me here again."

"So you want me to scream?" You smirked, but your sarcasm was quickly stolen from you.

He cocked an eyebrow at you before leaning back down, his voice becoming salacious static against your ear. "Don't make threats you can't keep."

Your breath hitched in your throat, your cunt pulsating as he put a hand over your mouth and thrusted into you.

He returned your smirk. Watching your pupils double in size as he nipped at your neck, muffling your moans with his palm.

"It's not easy for me either." He whispered - one hand still on your mouth, the other reaching for your center. "Being this deep in you and not being able to hear you say my name."

Your knuckles were almost white from how hard you were gripping the bed, your mind and body both completely overwhelmed by fucked-out euphoria.

"To have you wrapped this nice and tight around my cock without getting to hear all the cute little noises you make for me." He slammed into you, his rhythm blissfully unforgiving.

"You think that's what I want?"

You shook your head, his hand catching more carnal whimpers that were trying so hard to spill out of you as your hips bucked up against his.

The feeling of him playing with your clit while having you folded like this was almost too much to handle. You were lost - floating somewhere above cloud 9 with his thrusts only ascending you higher.

"What do you think I want to hear, baby? Hm?" His tone was condescendingly sweet. Mocking in a way that made your heart stutter and your walls contract. "Tell me."

He loosened his grasp on you, nearly bottoming out as his name echoed uncontrollably across the room. "Megumi ~” You whined again, completely forgetting your surroundings. "Megumi, fuck, you're gonna make me –"

Your climax laced through his fingers as his hand swiftly flew back over your mouth. His arms keeping you locked in place while your body writhed beneath his.

“There it is”, He praised, his tip kissing your cervix at just the right angle. “There’s my fucking – girl.” His head lolled back, his release following right behind yours.

He buried his head into your shoulder this time, letting out the most gorgeous, guttural sounds you'd ever heard as he filled you - not stopping until he could see his cum dripping out of you.

He pulled out carefully, taking a moment to admire his work while a mixture of fluids leaked onto your comforter.

“Hey," he said, running a hand through his hair before looking back at you. "Do me a favor when you get back."

You were still catching your breath, dizzy from overstimulation as you met his gaze. "What do you need?” You panted.

"Tell your new boyfriend I said 'thanks'."

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching a stupid smirk cut across his face while he slid his pants back on. “If he would've known how to fuck you right, I might not have gotten the chance to see you."

"You're insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

⋆｡˚ ☁️ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

#rem writes #jujutsu kaisen #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk smut #fushiguro megumi #jjk megumi #jjk au #jjk smau #jjk fanfic #megumi fanfic #megumi smau #megumi angst #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #toxic!megumi #jujutsu kaisen smut

424 notes · View notes

orangesaek · 2 months ago

Text

‘wet socks & flip-flops’ | dj johnny be

summary: your post-breakup healing plan did not include coconut ice cream with rainbow sprinkles and water guns… and a hottie

genre: mainly fluff with a bit of crack (just johnny being johnny)

pairing: johnny x gn!reader | wc: 1.1k

a/n: slightly proofread; i miss johnny :(((

You didn’t fly halfway across the world to fall for a DJ.

You came to heal, allegedly.

According to your best friend, the cure for a soul traumatized by a toxic relationship involved a backpack, some vaguely planned hostels, and sweating through three countries’ worth of street food.

“We’ll find ourselves,” she said. “Or at least find some hot strangers who will help us forget.”

Which is how you found yourself on a beach in Chiang Mai, Thailand, coated in neon body paint, ears vibrating from bass drops, and watching a tall, impossibly attractive guy command the DJ booth like he was born on a beat. You had no idea who he was. Just that his music made you feel like you had a pulse again, and that his tank top and occasional shout-outs in English made him stand out in the haze of lights and bodies.

Also, he smiled like he knew he was hot but hadn’t let it go to his head, which felt unfair.

Your friend shouted over the music, “That’s Johnny from NCT!”

You stared at her, unable to hear her clearly. “NC what?”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s an idol. A big one.”

“Oh, cool. His set’s really good.”

“Right? And he’s like, tall. That’s idol height.”

You nodded vaguely, more interested in dancing than Googling him. Whoever Johnny was, he knew how to work a crowd. You hadn’t moved your hips like that in ages. Not since your ex said you “danced like a confused baby deer”.

Screw him.

You were thriving. Glowing. Possibly dehydrated, but definitely thriving.

The next day, Thailand hit you with another surprise: Songkran Festival, aka the Great National Water War. You were barely functioning, jet-lagged, and emotionally fragile when a ten-year-old sniped you in the back with a Super Soaker. That’s how your night began.

You retaliated with a vengeance, stalking through the streets like a warrior goddess in flip-flops. You were ducking behind a cart of grilled squid when someone nailed you in the face with a clean shot. Cold water, square in the face.

You spluttered, turned and saw him.

Tall, grinning, water gun in hand like it was a casual extension of his soul. Johnny, the DJ from last night.

“Sorry!” he called out, clearly amused. “Didn’t see you there!”

You blinked water out of your lashes. “You again?”

His smile wavered. “You recognize me?”

“Yeah,” you said, pointing. “You were the DJ last night. You’re really good.”

He blinked. “Oh. I thought you meant… never mind.” He chuckled. “Thanks, it’s just a side thing.”

“A side thing?”

“I’m actually an idol. DJing’s just for fun when I have the time.”

“Right, my friend said you’re in… NCT or something?”

He laughed. “Yeah, NCT 127.”

“Is that like the number of members or the number of songs you’re required to memorize as a fan?”

He gasped dramatically. “Ouch.”

You shrugged, grinning. “I’m a casual observer. I came for the beach, not the bias list.”

You ended up walking beside him, wading through puddles, dodging kids with buckets. He was easy to talk to, unexpectedly grounded for someone who probably had fans with Twitter accounts dedicated to his tattoos. He talked about the tour he was on, how he managed to squeeze in last night’s DJ gig during a short break.

“It’s weird,” he said, suddenly thoughtful. “Some of the members are enlisting now. I’m American, so I don’t have to, but… it’s strange watching everyone go one by one. Makes me lonely, honestly. They’re my brothers, y’know?”

You didn’t interrupt. You just listened, and he noticed.

“Thanks,” he said after a moment of silence. “Most people either fangirl or freeze up. You’re just… here.”

“Waterlogged and undercaffeinated,” you offered.

He laughed. “Still counts.”

After a while, he asked, “What brings you to Thailand?”

“My friend’s wild ‘post-breakup healing backpack world tour’ idea. I was crying into fried chicken when she booked the tickets.”

He laughed, then paused. “You okay now?”

You smiled. “Getting there.”

You passed an ice cream stand, and he pointed. “You need that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Backpacker healing rule #99,” he said solemnly. “Always say yes to dessert.”

He bought you both coconut ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. “Johnny style”, he said, clinking his plastic spoon with yours. You sat on the curb together, watching the festival chaos unfold.

“So,” he asked between bites, “what’s next on your world tour?”

“Macau,” you said. “Flying out in two days.”

“No way,” he grinned. “We’re performing there in three.”

“Oh yeah?”

“You should come.”

You squinted at him. “To an NCT concert?”

He looked at you, deadly serious. “Yeah, VIP with backstage pass from yours truly. You and your friend.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said, finishing his ice cream. “You listened to me talk about enlistment sadness while I had wet socks. You’ve earned it.”

You gave him a look. “You realize that sounds like the setup to a fanfic, right?”

He grinned. “Would it help if I said I was also in a fictional arranged marriage with my bandmate and fell for my neighbor who was also another bandmate?”

“…Honestly? Slightly.”

He laughed so hard he choked on his ice cream.

“Okay but seriously, I’ll leave your name with one of our managers.”

“Sure… and you’ll recognize me in a stadium of thousands?”

“I’ll find you,” he said confidently. “You’ll be the only one not screaming.”

“Or throwing a lightstick at your face.”

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine, but how are you going to contact me then?”

He pulled out his phone. “Give me your Instagram. I’m modern like that.”

Just as you were typing it in, his phone buzzed. It was his manager. He sighed, then looked up.

“I have to head back. But… I can walk you to your hotel first?”

You raised a brow. “That’s unnecessarily sweet of you.”

“I’m tall and Midwestern. It’s genetic.”

The walk was short but full of weird jokes, shared stories, and at least three awful puns. One of which was, “Songkran (so can) you stay in my life forever?”, which made you threaten to report him to the Pun Police.

When you reached your hotel, he hesitated at the entrance.

“So,” he said, hands in his pockets. “See you in Macau?”

“If the tickets are real.”

“They are, and I will find you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If you’re lying, I’m gonna expose you online and say you squirted cold water on me square in the face.”

He laughed. “Fair enough.”

He gave you a little wave and backed away, nearly slipping on wet pavement and laughing at himself.

You watched him go, wondering if you were mildly delusional or if you’d just been invited to a K-pop concert by a gorgeous DJ who handed you healing in the form of music and coconut ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

accepting requests atm ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎♡

#nct 127 #nct fanfic #nct #nct johnny #johnny suh #nct johnny fanfic #nct johnny fluff #nct fluff #nct crack #nct scenarios #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 scenarios #nct x reader #dj johnny #dj johnny be

145 notes · View notes

writersblockiskillingme · 5 months ago

Note

I NEED GI HUN X F! READER PLEASEEEEEE

There’s barely anything for him:((

It can be literally anything but rn I’m craving comfort so maybe Gi Hun comforts his girl when she starts crying and she can’t really explain what’s wrong

Comfort | Seong Gi-hun x reader

Pairing: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader

Summary: You knew that hunting down the salesman was going to be difficult, but after everything that you've been through in the games alongside Gi-hun, sometimes everything feels like it's going to suffocate you. Luckily, he's always there for you.

Warning/s: angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff, short fic, just two traumatized people trying to heal each other, PTSP (talking about the games), death, tears, sadness, depressed atmosphere, cigarette addiction, cursing (?), mourning, guns, hunting down the salesman, possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: So I finally got out of the writer's block, and I found some spare time, so I finally sat down to write. I gave it my best shot. I hope you like it! More to come.

Being his friend was easy. Being in love with him was even easier.

Once the games came around, everything became more complicated. I simply never thought that something like this was going to happen. Working in a job position that I did never brought me much money. Sure, it was enough to bring some food on my table and to cover the bills, but it wasn't anything big. However, once I found myself drowning in debt, I found myself in a horrific situation with no way out.

The money that I earned was not enough for respectable food, I couldn't pay my landlord for a few months, and I was a few weeks away from being kicked out on the streets. Not to mention the debt for which it seemed like I never paid enough to get out of. I thought moving back to Korea would somehow help me at least to escape the loan sharks and pay for necessary things, but I couldn't imagine how wrong I would be.

That's when I met him. The Salesman. Playing the ddakji with him for some money earned me some food for that night, but it also gave me an opportunity of a lifetime. It was an opportunity that I now know I would have never taken if I had known what was waiting for me out there once I called the number at the back of the card that he gave me.

Before the first game, I saw him. My old childhood friend Seong Gi-hun. Up until I saw him, I came to a realization about just how much I missed him.

Truth to be told, I have always felt something more than friendship for him ever since I was I kid. At first, I brushed it off, but when I entered my teenage years, I realized that I really loved him.

I had to move away when I was twenty years old. I haven't seen him ever since. I only heard a few snippets about his life during the years I spent away from Korea. I heard that he had a, now ex, wife, and a daughter.

It was his mother who called me. She used to watch over me sometimes when we were kids, and since I was her son's best friend back then, we kept in touch over the years. It was nice, to be honest. Up until the day that she called me for a regular check-up. I had just gotten off of work after a really bad day. I had just sat down by the kitchen counter when I heard my phone ringing. The entire time I was on a call with her, she sounded strange. Kind of nervous, maybe even a bit disappointed. After a while I couldn't take it anymore and when I asked her what was wrong she told me the joyful news.

"Gi-hun is getting married."

I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was suffocating. I somehow forced myself to finish the phone call, trying to sound as happy as I could, considering that the love of my life was marrying another. A few years later, he got a daughter, and I soon heard about the divorce. I tried calling him multiple times to check on him. He never answered.

We reconnected during the games. During the bloodshed. During the pain. During the tears. During the final game, where it was down to Sangwoo, him and I. After Sangwoo died, I knew I couldn't kill him. He couldn't either. After the stunt that we pulled, we survived. We were about to kill ourselves, we truly were, but then at the last second, just as the knife had scraped the surface of my neck, they announced two winners.

After that, I realized that I couldn't live without him. I didn't have a family, didn't have any friends. His mother died, and his daughter moved with her mother and stepfather to America he lost his family, too. We were everything to each other. We still are.

As the months, years, passed, we set ourselves on a mission of finding the salesman.

At first, we didn't touch the money covered with the invisible blood. We couldn't bring ourselves to do so, but when we realized that we may have a shot at taking down the games, we used the money only for that sole purpose.

The first thing we did was to pay off our debts. Then together we bought the love hotel called "Pink Motel" in Seoul. The sign outside was always tured off. We decided to buy it so we could live there and now we also use it as headquarters while tracking down the salesman. Which was always.

That was currently our only purpose in life right now.

After we figured out our plan, we started to work with the loan sharks that were chasing us because of our debts. We paid them to find the salesman, and they were searching relentlessly.

Our mental health hasn't been all that great either.

Both Gi-hun and I have developed a cigarette addiction. Sometimes all we did was breath in the intoxicating smoke instead of air. In a strange way it helped me breath. I wasn't so nervous anymore. My hands shook less.

Gi-hun has nightmares. Every single night. I have them, too, but not that frequently. He had a gun next to his nightstand. I had mine under the pillow. It brought a sense of comfort that was always short-lived.

The nightmares kept us up all night, and because of them, we couldn't find any rest even during the daytime. It was always the people we lost on that cured island. Sangwoo... Sae-byeok... Ali... The images of our friends dead never left my brain. And neither did Gi-hun's. Other times, we dreamt that we're still playing the games. Us dying. Each other dying. The Frotman. The salesman.

It was too much.

I was just monitoring the room where our most trusted men were practicing. I didn't realize when it had happened, but I fell asleep. I guess all those sleeping pills that Boss Kim gave to Gi-hun and me finally caught up to me.

I felt trapped. Gi-hun... he was dying in front of me during the squid game. I couldn't do anything about it. I held him, covered in his blood, crying, screaming, curing at the sky for the misfortune we had to live. Cursing the makers of the game. Cursing the Frontman. Cursing the pink guards that just stood there and did nothing. Cursing the world.

Hands.

They were shaking my shoulders.

My name.

It was uttered from the lips of the man that I would die for.

My eyes snapped open, meeting Gi-hun's worried ones. Once he realized that I was awake, his face visibly relaxed, relief washing over him as I heard him let out a sigh, his head and shoulders hung downwards.

"A nightmare again?" He asked me as he brought his hand up to my cheeks, whipping away the tears that I didn't know fell, but also wasn't surprised that they did.

"I-I can't-" I sobbed, unable to form a sentence as he quickly brought me in his arms, drowning me in his chest.

"Shhh..." He whispered as he ran his hand down my hair as I cried against his neck, drowning his black shirt with my tears, "I'm here. You're okay."

"Yo-You w-were-" I stuttered, tears streaming down my cheeks, "You were dying, and I-I couldn't s-save y-you."

For a moment, there was just quiet in the room. Neither spoke. The only thing breaking the silence of our bedroom were my cries.

"Do you know why I never answered your phone calls after you found out about the divorce?" He asked me, his voice low, but soft with comfort. His sudden question about that topic surprising me a bit, "Do you know why my mother told you about it instead of me? The wedding, the divorce?"

"No."

"It was because I didn't want to face the fact that I was the cause of your misery." He whispered, still softly running his hand through my hair, my cries slowly dying down as I listened to him speak.

"I have always loved you and I knew that I hurt you with my decision even though I never wanted that to happen. I just tried to forget about you, I never knew that I could actually be with you." He sighed, "I thought that it would be the best for you. I didn't deserve you, I'm not even sure I still do." He chuckled softly.

"But even though I may not deserve you, I will never stop fighting for you and your happiness. You are my everything, and I would be damned if I ever let you feel any sort of pain." He lifted my chin with his hand as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, our lips almost meeting each other's, "We will find him and end this, but for now, how about I make you some tea and we get you to bed huh, my love? What do you say?"

@shadow-tumbler

213 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 4 months ago

Note

I'm literally praying for more Yandere Mash 🙏🙏 ALSO UR WRITING IS SO AMAZING

NO TAKEBACKS

Yandere!Mash x Reader

Magic lights sparkled in the air, laughter and cheers echoed through the grand halls of Easton Magic Academy. Everyone was celebrating the victory—the defeat of Innocent Zero, the peace that had finally settled over their world. Among them, you were just another student, a face in the crowd enjoying the atmosphere.

You weren’t part of Mash Burnedead’s close-knit friend group, but you’d seen him around. He was the so-called "hero," the one who defied everything and saved everyone. But right now, you weren’t thinking about that. You just wanted some air.

Unfortunately, your attempt to sneak onto the balcony for some peace didn’t go as planned. A misstep, and suddenly, you were plummeting from the second floor.

Your heart leaped to your throat. You barely had time to brace yourself when strong arms caught you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Careful.”

You looked up to see Mash Burnedead staring at you.

“I—oh my god—thank you.” you stammered, your hands gripping his arms instinctively.

Mash didn’t let go right away. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he gently set you on your feet. “You’re welcome.”

You dusted yourself off, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. Mash, meanwhile, was already turning away, sneaking toward the exit.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah.”

For some reason, you found yourself following him. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

Mash glanced at you, then nodded. And so, you walked together, the sounds of the party fading behind you.

For someone everyone called a hero, Mash was… surprisingly normal. He wasn’t arrogant or overly serious. He just liked cream puffs, quiet places, and working out. You found yourself laughing at his dry humor, at how he casually talked about things like muscles being the answer to everything.

“Mash! There you are!”

You turned to see his friends approaching—Lance, Dot, Finn, and Lemon. Their eyes flickered between the two of you, curious.

You took that as your cue. “Well, I should get back to my friends. Thanks again.”

“See you.”

That night had been a strange one, but after the party, you didn’t see much of Mash Burnedead. Not in any meaningful way, at least.

Of course, you’d catch glimpses—him standing at a distance when you passed by, his eyes tracking your movements with that same unreadable stare. A few times, he made small attempts to approach you, casual and unassuming. A greeting in the hallway, a question about class, a quiet offer of a cream puff when he happened to have extra.

But more often than not, your friends would pull you away before you could respond.

“You shouldn’t talk to him” they’d say. “Just because he saved us all doesn’t mean he belongs here.”

It was an ugly truth, but magic ruled this world. And Mash, for all his strength and miracles, had none. Some people tolerated him now, respected him even. But others—like your friends—still clung to old beliefs.

“He’s a fraud.” one of them muttered one day when they caught him watching from across the courtyard.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know what to think.

----

The usual chatter of students filled the academy halls, but something felt off. A tension in the air, an unspoken weight pressing down. You didn’t think much of it—until you turned a corner and saw them.

Your friends. And Mash.

They had pulled him aside in a secluded part of the courtyard, away from wandering eyes. Mash stood there, expression blank, as your so-called friends spoke in hushed but sharp tones.

“You don’t belong here, Burnedead” one of them sneered. “You’ve already gotten what you wanted, right? Your fake title, your praise. So why are you still hanging around?”

Another one scoffed. “Do you really think people see you as an equal? You’re a joke.”

Mash didn’t react. Not a twitch, not a flinch. He just stood there, completely unbothered.

But you heard everything. And something inside you snapped.

“What the hell are you doing?” you said, stepping between them.

Your friends stiffened in surprise. “We’re just talking” one of them said, forcing a smile. “You should—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” You turned to Mash, your voice softening. “Are you okay?”

Mash blinked at you. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“See?” One of your friends laughed nervously. “No harm done. It’s just—”

“I don’t care.”

They fell silent. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, before looking at them dead in the eyes.

“If being your friend means treating someone like this, then I’m fine with not playing with you.”

They looked at you, then at Mash, then back at you. And then, without another word, they turned and walked away.

You didn’t watch them leave. Instead, you turned back to Mash, expecting him to brush it off like he always did. Instead, he just… stared at you.

“Uh… I hope that wasn’t weird or anything.”

“No,” he said, “It wasn’t weird.”

Your so-called friends never spoke to you again after that day.

At first, it was just cold silence—no greetings, no eye contact, no acknowledgment of your existence. You were fine with that. You had already made your choice.

But then, the petty revenge started.

A tripping spell aimed at your feet in the hallway. A bucket of water “accidentally” tipping over just as you passed by. An entire swarm of frogs conjured into your locker.

You should have been miserable. You should have been soaked, humiliated, struggling to shake off the cruel tricks.

But none of them ever reached you.

Somehow, every single attempt failed.

You never noticed it at first. You’d walk through a hallway where a trip spell had been cast, only to feel the floor perfectly stable beneath your feet. You’d open your locker, expecting books, not frogs. And yet, there was nothing but your usual neatly stacked belongings.

It wasn’t until one day, when you heard a frustrated shout from down the hall, that you saw it.

Mash. Standing calmly with a bucket of water in one hand, completely untouched by the spell that was meant for you. He tilted his head, looking at the group of students who had set the trap, then—without a word—dumped the water over their heads instead.

Your ex-friends went pale. You had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

It wasn’t long before the pettiness turned into something uglier.

A real fight.

You weren’t there to see it, but you heard the aftermath. How they had cornered Mash, trying to force him to stop interfering. How they had thrown everything they had at him—spells, illusions, underhanded tricks.

How he had barely even tried and still crushed them.

It wasn’t a long battle.

Mash simply stood there, taking every attack like they were nothing, before stepping forward and ending it with a single punch.

They never bothered you again after that.

And when you finally caught up with Mash later that day, he just handed you a cream puff, completely unfazed, like nothing had ever happened.

“Here,” he said. “You didn’t get to eat lunch.”

“Mash… did you...”

He tilted his head. “Did I what?”

You sighed, taking the cream puff. “Never mind. Thanks, Mash.”

“Anytime.”

---

It was surreal.

Rayne Ames—the Rayne Ames—stood before you, his sharp golden eyes watching you with that cool, unreadable expression. He had approached you out of nowhere, asking about Mash. Simple questions, nothing out of the ordinary. How was he in class? Did he ever talk about his training? Did he seem different lately?

You answered as best as you could, unsure why he was asking, and once he got what he needed, he left just as quickly as he came.

And that was that.

But after that day, your life started changing.

With your old friends out of the picture, you knew you had to move on. Mash’s group was welcoming, always ready to include you in their chaotic fun. But still, they had each other. They were a solid unit, bound by deep friendship and battles you hadn’t been a part of. You were an outsider, someone they liked but didn’t necessarily need.

So, you drifted. Talked to other students. Tried to find your own place.

And somehow… Rayne Ames kept showing up.

It was never anything dramatic. He didn’t actively seek you out, but he always seemed to be there—watching, listening, stepping in when things got too chaotic. You assumed he was just keeping tabs on Mash.

And Mash did not like that.

You didn’t notice it at first, but his little habits started changing. The way he always hovered a little closer when Rayne was around. The way he interrupted conversations with his usual deadpan nonsense—offering you cream puffs, randomly commenting on Rayne’s hair, or straight-up picking you up and carrying you somewhere else without a word.

Rayne, of course, remained unfazed by all of it. If anything, he found it amusing.

----

You had been experimenting with baking lately, and since Mash always seemed to appreciate sweet things, you figured, why not? A simple, homemade cake as a small thank-you for everything.

On your way to find him, you ran into Lemon, who, upon seeing the cake in your hands, lit up with excitement.

“Oh! If you’re looking for Mash, I can take you to his place!” she offered cheerfully.

You hesitated for a moment—going to Mash’s house wasn’t exactly part of the plan—but Lemon was already leading the way, and before you knew it, you were standing at his doorstep.

The door was unlocked, so Lemon let herself in, calling out, “Mash! You have a visitor!”

You barely had time to process what was happening before you heard the sound of weights clanking. As you stepped inside, your eyes landed on him.

Mash Burnedead, mid-workout, lifting what had to be insanely heavy dumbbells as if they were nothing.

You had always known Mash was strong. You’d seen him punch through walls like they were made of paper, carry people as if they weighed nothing.

But seeing him like this, up close—it was different.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that you were staring.

Mash set the weights down before turning to you. “Oh. You came.”

You quickly held up the cake. “I, uh—yeah! I baked this and thought you might like some.”

“Thanks.”

You didn’t stay long after that. You made an excuse to leave early, not missing how Mash watched you the entire time you walked out the door.

The next day, you didn’t show up to school.

At first, no one thought much of it. But by midday, whispers started. Even Rayne seemed mildly concerned, casually asking if anyone knew where you were.

But Mash knew something was wrong.

Because when he woke up that morning, the first thing he did was check his front porch—where he had left the empty cake box after finishing the last slice.

It was gone.

Someone had taken it.

And now, you were missing.

Where were you?

The world was spinning. Your body ached, your skin burned, and every breath you took sent sharp pains through your ribs.

It hadn’t been a fair fight—far from it.

Your old "friends" hadn’t come after you themselves, no. They were too cowardly for that. Instead, they had hired someone else—someone stronger, someone ruthless—to make sure you stayed down.

And they had done their job well.

You barely remembered how it ended. All you knew was that your body couldn't take any more, and at some point, you had collapsed against a wall, waiting for the pain to swallow you whole.

You barely registered the faint sound of bones breaking or the low, terrifyingly calm voice that followed.

"You shouldn't have touched them."

The first thing you feel is warmth. Next is the soft pressure of bandages wrapped around your arms, your ribs. Someone had taken care of you.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the lighting of the unfamiliar room. Your head feels heavy, and for a brief moment, your mind is blank. Someone was sitting next to you.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. He notices. Before you can even think, he’s already reaching for a glass of water, pressing it into your hands.

“…Mash?” your voice is hoarse. “…What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, wincing at the dull pain. Your memories are foggy—blurry figures, flashes of magic, a crushing sense of helplessness. But beyond that? Nothing.

Mash watches you carefully, his fingers tapping idly against his arm.

"You got hurt. I handled it."

You’re too tired to question it. Instead, you focus on something else.

“…Where am I?”

Mash tilts his head slightly. “My house.”

You glance down at yourself—the fresh bandages, the blanket draped over you.

"You took care of me?"

He nodded.

A thought crosses your mind, something nagging at the edges of your blank memories. Something important.

You look at him, hesitating. "…Mash. What are we?"

“We’re together.”

“…What?”

“I’m your boyfriend” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And somehow, even though your memories are gone—

You believe him.

Lemon sobbed the moment she found out.

You didn’t get it.

Why was she crying so much? Weren’t you and Mash always like this? Weren’t things normal?

She clung to your hands, wailing about how “true love prevails” and “you’re finally safe” while Finn awkwardly patted her back, clearly unsure how to handle the situation.

No one in the group pushed further.

You weren’t sure if it was because of your injuries or something else, but he barely let you out of his sight. If you walked, he was right beside you. If you sat down, he positioned himself strategically—either next to you or across from you, always watching, always ready.

You were just about to take a bite when Mash suddenly—without a word—took the food right out of your hands.

He inspected it. Took a bite. Chewed.

“…Too sweet.”

Then, he grabbed another piece from your tray. Ate that too.

“…Too spicy.”

Then another.

“…Too bitter.”

By the time he was done testing everything, you were left staring at your now-half-empty plate, completely baffled.

“Mash,” you deadpanned. “You ate most of my lunch.”

He blinked at you. “I was making sure it was okay.”

“…You didn’t have to eat all of it.”

“…I’ll get you more.”

And then, without hesitation, he stood up and walked off—probably to find something “safer” for you to eat.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as Lemon giggled beside you. “He’s so attentive!” she swooned. “Taking care of his beloved like a true gentleman!”

You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue.

You thought Mash being overly cautious was limited to food.

You were wrong.

While walking through campus, Mash suddenly spawned over, his muscles tensing as he stared at something in the distance.

Then—without warning—he picked up a rock and chucked it.

The entire group turned, just in time to see a now flattened stone that had been in your path.

Mash nodded to himself, satisfied, before continuing to walk like nothing happened.

“…Mash,” you finally said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“…It was just a rock.”

“It was in your way.”

Lemon whispered, “He’s so in love.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that.

----

You weren’t content with just not knowing.

There were gaps in your mind, blank spaces where memories should be. And it wasn’t just frustrating—it was unnerving. Every time you tried to grasp at the edges of something important, it slipped through your fingers like sand.

So, you did what any rational person would do.

You started digging.

Asking around. Looking through old notes, trying to see if anything sparked recognition.

But for some reason—every single time you got close—Mash was there.

Sometimes, he’d distract you—offering you more sweets, pulling you into his usual nonsense, finding ways to keep you occupied. Other times, it was more direct.

Like the time he just… picked you up and walked away when you asked Lemon too many questions.

Or the time you almost found your old diary, only for it to mysteriously vanish.

And then, there was the worst one—

You had been talking to Rayne.

It was a casual conversation at first, but then, you asked.

“Do you know what happened to me before I lost my memory?”

Rayne had gone silent. His gaze flickered over your shoulder, and when you turned—

Mash was already there.

“…Come on” he said, voice as steady as ever. “You need to eat.”

Rayne didn’t say anything, only watching as Mash practically dragged you away.

---

Finn wasn’t expecting to walk into this.

It was a normal day—nothing out of the ordinary. But when he turned the corner, he saw Mash standing there, gripping the edge of a table so tightly it looked like he might break it.

“Uh. Mash?”

Mash didn’t respond.

Finn frowned, stepping closer. “Mash, what’s wrong?”

No response, just that stupid blank stare, but there was something off about it. Something shaking beneath the surface.

Finn had known Mash for a while now.

Whatever it was—

It had to do with you.

So, he sighed, scratching the back of his head before offering a small, reassuring smile.

“Whatever’s going on” he said, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Mash finally moved—his grip loosening just slightly. He looked at Finn.

“You’re Mash Burnedead. You don’t lose, right?”

A long pause.

Then, finally—Mash nodded.

-----

Dot was hiding.

It was rare to see him so quiet, so serious. But today, he was focused.

A thick branch in his hands, his grip tight. He crouched near the hallway, waiting—watching.

Then, the moment you walked by—he swung the thing to your head.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Because before the branch could even come close to hitting you, a strong hand caught it mid-air.

You turned just in time to see the silent battle of wills taking place.

“…Mash?” You tilted your head. “Dot?”

Neither answered.

Mash’s grip on the branch tightened, cracking the wood slightly. Dot gulped. Sensing that things were about to get messy, you quickly grabbed Mash’s sleeve and pulled him away.

The moment you turned the corner toward the classroom—

You tripped.

Your foot slipped against the wet floor, your balance completely thrown off. You hit the ground hard. The world blurred for a moment, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Voices echoed distantly, panicked, but you couldn’t make out the words.

Everything faded.

You woke up later on, trying to piece together what had happened. But the moment you tried to think back—

Nothing.

Just an empty, hollow void where your memories should be.

You frowned, struggling to sit up. Around you, the group stood in silence—Lance, Dot, Finn, Lemon, and even Rayne to your surprise.

Before you could even question it, the door suddenly slammed open.

He grabbed Dot, then Lance, then Finn, shoving them forward.

“Outside”

Lemon and Rayne exchanged glances but didn’t intervene.

“…What just happened?”

Lemon sighed, shaking her head.

Everything was normal.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

You went about your day, chatting with Rayne, ignoring the lingering stares from the group. They didn’t say anything about yesterday, didn’t mention the fight Mash had with them outside.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

But then—

Mash said something.

It wasn’t even anything big. Just an offhand comment, a simple remark about something only your past self would remember.

Your memories came flooding back out of nowhere.

It hit like a whiplash. Images, emotions, voices all crashing into you at once. The truth you had lost—the reason you had forgotten.

You didn’t even know why you were mad.

But you were.

It wasn’t like he hurt you. It wasn’t like he lied outright.

But he had kept it from you. Had stopped you every step of the way. Had taken advantage of your missing memories just to keep you his.

And right now?

You didn’t want to see him.

Didn’t want to talk to him.

Didn’t want to even look at him.

----

Mash wasn’t good with words.

But he was good at trying.

His first attempt? A written apology.

While you were in class, he stood outside the window, holding up a piece of paper with the words: "I’m sorry."

It would’ve been somewhat effective if he hadn’t written it on a tiny piece of paper that was hard to read from a distance.

Rayne, sitting beside you- just because you asked him to and surely you'll pay him with something else, glanced at it, then at you.

“…Are you really going to let him stand there looking like that?”

You didn’t answer.

The second attempt? Rock arrangements.

You walked outside to find a series of carefully placed stones, spelling out: "I messed up."

Then, underneath it, in slightly smaller rocks: "I’ll fix it."

You huffed, crossing your arms.

Rayne just sighed beside you. “At least he’s consistent.”

And finally—his third attempt?

It was just him.

From afar.

Because you wouldn’t let him near you. Wouldn’t let him explain, wouldn’t let him talk his way back in.

So, instead, he stayed back. Watching.

You weren’t expecting anything strange to happen that night.

You were at home, settling in, finally getting some peace after everything. The last thing you expected was to turn around and—

Mash was inside your house.

You barely held in a scream. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.

“What the hell—?!” You gasped, stumbling back. “How did you—?”

“I walked in.”

“What do you mean you walked in?!”

“The door was locked, so I broke it.”

You rubbed your temples, inhaling sharply. “Mash, you can’t just—sneak into someone’s house like this.”

“I came to apologize.”

“You—” You sighed, exasperated. “That’s not how apologies work.”

“…Fine” he said. “If you won’t forgive me, then I’ll handle your old friends for causing the accident.”

“And then,” Mash continued, “I’ll leave school.”

He said it so simply. Like it was a decision he had already made.

You didn’t want that.

Not because you weren’t still mad. Not because he didn’t deserve to apologize properly.

But because you knew him.

You knew exactly what he was capable of when he was serious.

“…Mash” you said “you don’t have to do that.”

“But they hurt you.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but you don’t have to fix everything on your own.”

“All you had to do was ask” you muttered, sighing. “Not—decide what our relationship is without asking me first.”

“…I’m sorry.”

You let out a slow breath. “Alright. Guess I shouldn't be mad at you anymore.”

And just like that, the tension eased.

But what you didn’t know—

Was that Mash had already handled your old friends.

Before coming here.

By the time you had started to forgive him, by the time you had calmed down—

There was no one left to hurt you again.

#yandere x reader #yandere #mash burnedead #mash x reader #mashle

273 notes · View notes

colorfulrook · 3 months ago

Note

I don't know if I'm supposed to ask this or just commenting on the post is ok- but I was thinking of using two sentences from the 100x100 celebration-

System! Reader Au where jinwoo says "you are my favorite notification" but reader says "I loved you and that was my mistake"

It can also go like him realizing that reader loved him but pulled away which connects with the sentence "what hurts more... Is that you didn't fight for me"

IDK YOU CAN CHOOSE ANY, I JUST LOVE TO READ YOUR STORIES! ALSO CONGRATS AGAIN

[A/N]: Both are fine! Thank you so much for reading my stories, I am super glad that you liked it! This time I chose to do it from Jinwoo's pov, to switch things up, get the tissues baby because i'm bringing rain. - Rook

I AM ON A ROLL TODAY LET'S GO

He never really noticed it—how quiet things became.

How there weren't gentle nudges to complete side quests anymore. No soft glimmers in the corner of his vision offering encouragement or witty little remarks hidden between lines of code. Just the clean, sterile interface of the System. Cold. Calculative. Perfect.

The way it used to be. The way it was supposed to be.

And yet, Jinwoo found himself searching for something that was no longer there. Or rather, someone.

He didn't know when it started—when the System stopped feeling like just a tool and started feeling... warm. Like someone was watching over him, not because they were required to, but because they wanted to. Messages slipped in between status updates, quiet words of care buried in mission logs. Sometimes funny. Sometimes kind. Sometimes soft.

But always there.

He used to think it was a glitch. Some strange hiccup in the code. Until he realized the messages changed when he changed. They adapted. Grew gentler when he was hurting, sharper when he needed to focus, and even playful when the air was too heavy. And then, one day—he said it out loud, without even thinking.

“You are my favorite notification.”

The screen had flickered, and he could’ve sworn he saw a blink of static. Like surprise.

But then you went quiet again.

For days. Then weeks. The warmth disappeared.

The quests came, but the comfort didn’t.

No encouragement.

Just instructions, plain and simple.

And he hated it.

He didn’t understand why the absence hit him like this—why he found himself standing in the aftermath of another gate, body sore and breath uneven, staring up at a sky that didn’t answer.

"Why are you not saying something?" he whispered to no one.

It wasn’t until Cha Hae-In called him out—softly, gently—that he realized.

“You’re searching for someone,” she said, “Who are you looking for?”

He didn’t deny it. How could he?

Because the truth burned low in his chest, bitter and unresolved.

He’d taken it all for granted. Every small moment, every quiet message. Every time the System held him through encouragement, even though it couldn’t touch or speak like a person. But it was real. They were real. And now, they were gone.

Until one day, when a system error popped up unexpectedly—an old fragment of code blinking in and out of existence, like something desperately trying to remain.

He opened the file without thinking. It wasn’t even meant for him, not directly. It was just old data—remnants of old quest logs... And your name—the one he gave you that night long ago.

And there, buried at the end of a forgotten mission summary, was a line:

"I loved you, and that was my mistake."

Jinwoo’s heart stopped, silent tears slid down as he finally understood.

It wasn’t code.

It was a confession.

And he had seen it too late.

#solo leveling scenarios #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #solo leveling angst #solo leveling

148 notes · View notes

midnightsmusings · 6 months ago

Text

Hard to get rid of Ghost x Soap who's into his LT's girl in every universe anybody?

Simon who didn't think much when you broke up with him, just sighed because it was right as he got sent on a mission.

Simon who told you he had to go but that he'd be back to "straighten you out" after a messy kiss was pressed to your lips. He knew you were just throwing a little tantrum, pouting about Johnny.

Simon who also knew you'd be just as in love once he brought the man around.

Simon who's been bringing up his teammate around you more and more, carefully cataloguing your reactions and crafting a plan.

Simon who showed up a month after you broke up with him, acting like the separation didn't even happen and tugging a man behind him, introducing Johnny to "their" girl.

(Brain rot about it below)

-CW: Ghostsoap x AFAB reader, freak Ghost, Soap who's just as bad but more subtle about it, Hints at Ghost watching reader through cameras

"What kinda grub ya want?" The gruff voice came through the phone. It's been a month but you'd recognize the gravelly Manchester accent anywhere. It was Simon.

"Don't want anything from you" you retorted, not even coiling away from the demanding tone that rang through the speaker. You never would have answered if you knew, but you were too distracted with laundry to look at the caller ID before answering.

"Besides, maybe I moved huh? How are you going to drop off food if you don't know where I am?" You tried. It was a lame attempt, you knew it, but you also didn't know what to think of a month old ex wanting to bring you food.

Especially an ex like Simon.

A low, knowing chuckle came through the phone that had your face paling and thighs clenching simultaneously.

"No baby, you didn't move" he said, smug and sure. You wanted to ask how he knew that, but deep down you didn't really want to know the answer.

The sounds of shuffling came through the speaker before his voice rang out again, more demanding than the first time. "Now stop bein' a brat, you want takeout?"

You huffed, glaring down at the phone even if he couldn't see. It made you feel a little better and reminded you to ignore the heat building in your gut that his voice always caused.

"No" you said flatly with a frown. God did you want takeout now that he mentioned it. Your stomach growled, you got so lost in chores today you forgot to eat.

"Yeah ya do" he rumbled amused. He had this strange affinity for being unaffected by anything, voice self assured and calm under the softly mocking tone.

"Get the number 4 Johnny" his voice said, distantly as if he pulled away from the phone.

You frowned, running a hand over your head irritated and confused as you opened your mouth to question him. Really? He was calling you while he was with the man that caused your breakup?

"We'll be there soon dove" he said before you could gather your scattered thoughts. His voice louder now that he was close to the speaker again.

You swallowed thickly, not quite sure what to do, to think. Again, before you could even form a responce, maybe even a crafty insult, he hung up. The silence rang out loud, and your mind panics before settling on one thing.

We?

As soon as you opened the door you forgot why you broke up with him.

Simon's large frame stood, leaning against the doorframe. A bag of your favorite takeout was hanging from his gloved hand.

As usual, he was dressed in all black. His hood was up and he was wearing that skeleton face mask you'd got him as a joke. It was one you'd surprised him with after you saw the skull mask he wore around base.

Your heart clenched.

"Lookin' good Darlin'" Simon grunted eyes sweeping over you before another face popped out around his shoulder, his smile warm and disarming. "Evenin hen" the man greeted brightly.

So this was Johnny. God you wanted to hate the man, but he looked so sweet and inviting. His soft aura balanced out Simon's deadpanned gaze.

You were at a loss for words, helpless to stop as they shoved their way in. Simon's mask was set on the small table by the door and Johnny's boots were kicked off carelessly in the hall.

They started casually unpacking all the food on your kitchen counter, Simon guiding Johnny on where everything in your kitchen was.

"Simon what the f-" you started once your brain finally caught up and you shut your door, walking over to them. Only to be cut off by him again.

"Woulda been here earlier but got stuck on a bloody mission" he grunts pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he shoves a plate piled with food into your hands.

"Aye shite one too, took a month but we got 'em eh LT?" Johnny mumbled around a mouthful of egg roll.

A month?

Simon just grunted, broad hand squeezing the back of Johnny's neck. Your eyes tracked the movement, the way the shorter man leaned into the touch with a smile. Your heart clenched painfully again.

"Classified Johnny" Simon responded bluntly sliding his hand off his neck and loading up his own plate.

"Ah cmon Ghost let the lassie hear aboot how cool I am" Johnny grumbled with a pout, only perking up when Simon said nothing to dissuade him.

Johnny immediately walked over to you, hands waving as he rambled. You'd never met him in person before, only heard his name countless times. So many times actually that you started to worry. Eventually you called off your relationship because of your boyfriend's clear affection for someone else.

At least you thought you did.

You briefly considered the merits of trying to force them out. There was no way you could physically do it but you did always keep a bat by your door...

Simon looked up, smirk growing slowly as if he could read your thoughts. Johnny's voice next to you faded to the background as Simon walked closer.

"Let 'er eat before ya talk her ear off" the man huffed, pushing Johnny towards the living room before focusing down at you.

"Shoulda' let me teach you to fight dove..woulda been able to get us out of here hm?" He rumbled lowly, that damned smirk now stretching his scarred lips wide.

He patted your ass with a broad hand before motioning his head to where Johnny was sitting on your couch, adjusting the pillows next to him for you. "He's been excited to meet ya, I told him all about his girl. Now go on 'n eat lovie"

#Simon pet names only Riley #ghost x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny x reader #simon ghost riley #soap cod #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghost cod #soapghost #ghostsoap #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghostsoap x reader #cod x reader

331 notes · View notes

omgfangirlland · 2 months ago

Note

I'd love for a part 2! It'd be really funny if she did get taken in by Slade or by Ra.. But I kinda want her to be taken in by the Winchesters 😈😈😈 (my brain is itching to write another idea but I'm also having a mental block.. Dang it.. So many possibilities.. So many ideaaaas....i wannnnnna write and writeeeeeee but I feel like my head is gonna explode)

-🔱

Here's a kinda part 2/kinda thoughts to add 🙃

I think the Reader knows some things from the goons and the other clients of The Lounge- like one taught her how to throw knives, maybe another gave her the basics for shooting a gun, and another gave her inside tips on stocks.

Either way, along the way, her speech does get better, she still stutters and is still selectively mute, but she grows and learn a lot, one particular man seemingly taking him under his wing while all she needs to do is listen to his madness.

Reader is still a skeptic and swears John Winchester is a madman, but you also know he tips nicely and buys you nice things, from silly drawing books to necessities like jackets and groceries, so you let him talk. Unknowingly, you're actually helping him a lot.

You don't notice it, you have learned to brush it off, actually, but John is always alone. When you first asked him what he'd like and then turned to his left, asking his "friend"(maybe a hunter who died on the job due to John) the same question, he immediately knew. And not like the ghosts would tell you they're dead- they like to be treated s if they're still alive.

Now, years later, when three men walk in, stiff and eyes jumping from one side to the other, you know they're asking for trouble, but you have a job to do. So, you put on a fake smile and ask what they'd like while kindly asking the shining meta to close his wings and, if possible, to dim his light.

Dean and Sam look at Castiel, normal, human-looking Castiel who simply apologizes and seemingly does as told, as you stop squinting. They both throw a glance at each other before turning to you, introducing themselves, and asking about the strange missing people turning up drained of blood, not giving anything away as Dean jokingly calls them paranormal fanatics like old Pops Winchester.

Your smile immediately drops. As you ask why they want to know, and if they know a John Winchester, the brothers have a moment of dread as the possibility of this being another Adam moment crosses their minds.

"He's dead. I'm sorry." Castiel says plainly, deadpan, making Dean and Sam cringe. And you snort, calling him a fucking liar because you just rented the man a room. And when John appears behind you out of no where, is the moment everything went to shit.

Finding out you weren't insane and unnecessarily dipping yourself with pills wasn't something that was on your bingo sheet- alas, the memories of Thomas and Martha were long forgotten, and with the newfound reality came fears bigger than just being homeless. So you stuck with the team, left your... It wasn't home. Housing seemed more fitting.

The impala and the men have become your house along the way, through every bullshit, every almost jail time, every starving con artist moment. And if you and Dean became something more along the way, it felt right.

As it is, despite it all, you still found your way back to Gotham due to another John. You four had met Constantine on a few jobs, mostly demon hunts. The boys hated him, you found him sad, like a wet puppy, and yet he opened so much for you, after all, he's the reason you learned magic. So when he sent a signal for help, you begged your lover and his brother to go help.

The moment you met, the first thing he said is "Don't be mad," and by the time you blinked, you were in the middle of the manor, eyes locked on a pale, shaking Bruce and two happy, teary-eyed Martha and Thomas.

I don't know how to carry it on, so have these headcannon style stuff:

Dean goes out of his way to be even more clingy just to piss off Bruce. He addresses(even if he can't see them) Martha and Thomas as Mama and Papa, and just calls Bruce that or Wayne.

Bruce is beyond angry at the simple idea of Dean, let alone at actually seeing the man interact with you.

Sam is ready to brawl, Dean didn't let him beat John up, but he'll let his dear Sammy throw hands with this deadbeat.

John C. is drinking behind the couch. John W. is sweating in Heaven(CAN'T BELIVE HE MADE IT THERE BTW) as he watches the shitshow.

I have a thought that your mom actually called from the asylum and screamed at Bruce about where her baby is, why is she on the news being called a criminal, and Bruce just brushed it off as another mental break, crying himself to sleep that night.

Discourse insues, yelling, almost throwing shit. Just to scare Bruce even more, Reader fakes a vision where everyone he loves dies, telling him he'll try and fail like he's failed with her, before "passing out".

Cue John C. terrified because 1. he didn't know she could do that 2. he doesn't know she's lying her ass off

Sam and Dean buy you your fav meal and extra dessert after carrying you out to baby and driving off.

Bruce, of course, doesn't let go.

All the kids locked themselves in a room with Damian to keep him from breaking out because he's mad that nobody told him he wasn't the firstborn and that his big sister's mom was actually married to Bruce.

Tag list: @simpingpandas

I feel like @venomsvl and @beyondblissxoxo would also appreciate the tag, but I'll take it down if you two want that.

#🔱 anon #anon ask #🫀anon #dc crossover #supernatural crossover #dc x supernatural #dean winchester x reader #female!reader #fem!reader #batfam x neglected reader #neglected reader

115 notes · View notes

yuamusuzuran · 23 days ago

Text

The Dragon & the Foreseer who loved him - pt.11

Pairing: Sylus x Zayne/ SnowCrow

Chp word count: 2985

MINORS DNI/ EXPLICIT AND MATURE CONTENT AHEAD!

Chapter tags: yearning, pining, LOTS OF EMOTIONS, reunion, kissing, Sylus POV

Previous chapters: CHP1, CHP2, CHP3, CHP4, CHP5, CHP6, CHP7, CHP8, CHP9, CHP10

If you wish to become a part of the tag list, refer here!

Click HERE to read on AO3!

ENJOY!

CHAPTER 11 - Please don't call me that...

These past three weeks have been the longest Sylus has ever had to go through, not even waiting multiple lifetimes could compare to the yearning he was feeling whilst laying in Akso Hospital.

Every day, he was tended to by the best of the best doctors and nurses he could afford, Livia and the twins bringing him anything he needed or wanted while also putting up with his moodiness.

But Zayne… he never came to check up on him, despite being the one who had patched him up in the first place.

Sylus asked, multiple times, about him, but he always got a similar answer. ‘Dr. Zayne is on shift in cardiology today’; ‘Dr. Zayne worked a night shift at the ER and is resting today’; ‘Dr. Zayne is in surgery’.

Excuse upon excuse… but no matter his frustration, Sylus couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

In the meantime, Livia had made sure to test out her theory, even managing to have a cup of coffee with her old friend. She was still uncertain if her “shielding-them-from-destiny’s-gaze” theory was correct, but she was absolutely convinced that, yes, Zayne does remember Sylus… and very well.

At least, that’s what his mind had shown her.

But now, when he was finally discharged and instructed to remain on strict bed rest, the leader of Onychinus had one final thing to do before leaving Akso Hospital.

“You’ve really outdone yourself with this bouquet Livia commented, her head barely visible behind the flowers, "Is there a reason why you chose white roses and white jasmines?"

Sylus chuckled, clicking the elevator button once they boarded, “It’s a secret between me and the good doctor”

Livia pouted and turned her head away, causing the man to chuckle.

The elevator ride continued in silence, Sylus taking a deep breath before leaning against the wall.

His heart, although usually beating very fast, was unstoppable at that moment, a strange sensation building up in his stomach.

He wasn’t feeling like this when he had reunited with his beloved Foreseer, it was a sudden and a miraculous encounter.

But now, when Sylus knew where his office was, and that he will definitely see him face to face… he couldn’t calm down.

“Are you nervous?” Livia’s voice suddenly broke the silence, her tone somewhat cheerful but mostly surprised.

Sylus looked at her, making sure to steady his bouncy leg, “What gave you that idea?” he asked, attempting to mask the trembling in his voice though his usual purr.

“I can literally cut the air with a knife, you’re about to burst” she said nonchalantly, Sylus only chuckling at her assessment.

“Maybe you’re correct” he eventually responded, his vision unfocused, “I’m just regretting not dressing into something fancier”

Livia eyed him up and down, in utter disbelief “What are you saying? You look very handsome in a biker outfit!”

Another chuckle escaped the silver-haired man, his posture finally relaxing, “When I have such a cheerleader, there is no chance I will fail in this endeavor”

“You bet!” Livia chirped, a tender smile spreading across her lips.

The elevator soon dinged, opening the door so the duo can finally get off on the 10th floor.

Not many people were around aside doctors and designated nurses, all of them eyeing the duo with surprise and the expected interest when it came to Sylus.

But nobody stopped them; nobody even asked them where they were going, Sylus making sure to look as casual as possible. When a certain nurse or a doctor seemed a little too suspicious of them, he’d give them his signature smirk, promptly immobilizing them.

Zayne’s office was at the other side of the building, Livia leading the way with confidence.

Once there, however, Sylus suddenly became unable to take a deep breath, his hand balling in the middle of his chest, where the crystal once used to be.

“Are you okay?” Livia asked with concern, “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine…” he reassured, taking the bouquet away from the woman’s hands, “I suppose you were correct… I am rather nervous now”

Livia smiled, reaching up to caress his cheek. Her cold palms managed to somewhat ground Sylus, the tone of her voice being nothing but gentle:

“Take as much time as you need in there. I’ll wait here, making sure you two can have a proper conversation, without the need to hide your memories”

Sylus smiled, gently clasping Livia’s hand, “Thank you, kitten”

The two then parted, Livia quietly nudging and cheering for him before sitting down in the waiting room, determined to act as a shield against the fate itself if it meant Sylus and Zayne could have a proper conversation.

Sylus took a deep, heavy breath, gently squeezing the bouquet in his hand before relaxing, knocking thrice on the plain white door.

“Who is it?” a stern voice came from the other side, Sylus’ heart immediately skipping a beat.

But, instead of announcing himself, the silver-haired man pushed the handle, opening the door quietly.

“Why knock if you’ll enter anyway-” Zayne had gone silent as he turned from his desk, a silent gasp escaping his lips as he gripped onto the files he held, “Mr. Sylus…”

Sylus had to snicker, closing the door, “No need to be alarmed doc, I just came to pay you a quick visit and…” he produced a bouquet of white roses and jasmines from behind his back, holding it with his right hand whilst trying to appear nonchalant, “Express my sincerest gratitude”

Zayne remained silent for a while, his expression as blank as he could muster. And yet, the moment he laid his eyes on the jasmines that had made up majority of the bouquet, their gentle scent filling up his office, he gulped, closing his eyes.

“This is not an appropriate behavior, Mr. Sylus” the doctor stated calmly, putting down the documents on his table before making a few steps towards him, “If anyone had seen you bring this to me, they might think I’m taking a bribe”

Sylus chuckled with amusement, “Surely a single bouquet wouldn’t spark that much suspicion?”

The doctor’s lips curled into a barely noticeable smile, “You would be surprised… this is a competitive field”

The two remained silent for a moment, Zayne observing the flowers as he adjusted the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose.

And Sylus had to use every ounce of composure just to not close the distance between them and embrace him.

Despite all those centuries of being apart, his Foreseer was as beautiful as Sylus had remembered him, his robes now changed with black hospital scrubs while his once long, jet-black hair was now cut shorter for convenience.

But those eyes… those beautiful, green eyes that reminded the dragon of the first days of spring, still remained cautious, curious… and so lovely.

Zayne was the one to reach for the flowers first, Sylus giving them up without hesitation.

“What a waste” the doctor commented before turning around, “They’ll wither in this office; I’m not here often…”

“Don’t worry, I can always bring you a new one, doc. If the flowers are to your liking, of course” Sylus assured, his voice much quieter than before.

Zayne didn’t respond as he turned away from him, heading back towards his desk. He handled the flowers with utmost care, moving piles of paperwork and medical equipment to the side just so he could lay them on the flat surface.

“I’m glad you came to see me” the doctor sounded very professional, polite, “But I assume that you already have all instructions needed to continue your recovery at home?”

“Of course” Sylus confirmed, barely able to keep the flirty smile on his face, “The team you have assigned to my care are truly knowledgeable. But I will still need to come to Akso every week for a checkup”

Zayne nodded, still turned away from Sylus, “I suspected as much… But if you want a reassurance that I’ll be the one handling the check up, I cannot promise you that. I’m currently working on several different stations-”

“I don’t expect you to give me reassurance, doc. I know you’re very busy…” Sylus’ voice suddenly broke, the man needing to take a deep breath to continue, “All I wanted to do was see whether you’re alright… To finally have a chance to have a proper chat with you”

“Mr. Sylus-”

“Please don’t call me that…” Sylus had to close his eyes, aware his voice was trembling.

This sudden change in his voice, however, seemingly did something to Zayne, the doctor turning around as if he had just heard the most shocking news.

Sylus couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, completely ditching any sense of composure he had tried to keep up.

“I know… you remember me…” he mumbled, taking a heavy gulp as his eyes locked with Zayne’s, “Even while I was in the ICU… I saw recognition in your eyes”

The doctor started shaking his head in the very next moment, backing into a table, but Sylus didn’t have any intention of leaving that office without speaking his mind first.

With a single step forward, the silver-haired man relayed: “I know why you wanted to avoid me… and why you’re still trying to deny it… but please, have mercy on me. Use the name you gave me properly…”

Sylus was very aware of how shaky his voice was as he took yet another deep breath, frustration and sadness that had accumulated during all of those days almost threatening to drown him.

But then… Zayne closed his eyes, his mask of professionalism cracking in half as he removed his glasses.

“Sylus, I…” he murmured, voice barely above the whisper as he intertwined his own fingers, squeezing them tight above his stomach, “I cannot… So many times before, you-”

“It won’t happen again” Sylus suddenly raised his voice, doctor looking up at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Sylus, you have no idea how many times I’ve seen you hurt-”

“I said…” the silver-head made additional few steps, the two men now only inches apart as he mumbled, “I promise… it won’t happen again. Nothing will happen to me, even if we’re in a close proximity”

Zayne frowned, his lips turning into a thin line as the anger started consuming him, “How can you be so sure? How can you know-”

“I do” Sylus’ voice was gentle, quiet, the purr in his undertone.

Despite his better judgment and without a clear permission, the former dragon gently picked up the doctor’s hand, raising it to his lips only to plant a single, gentle kiss on his knuckles.

He could hear Zayne gasp for air and then gulping, the doctor looking away from him before pulling away his hand.

Sylus could see something shift in Zayne’s eyes… but whatever it was, he doubted the doctor would acknowledge it in that moment. It was obviously too much for him…

With a sigh of defeat, the silver-haired man slipped a hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a black business card which he gently placed on the doctor’s table.

“If you so wish, we can speak on a later date, I promise I’ll explain everything” he said reassuringly, squeezing his fists in agony of not being able to embrace the man in front of him.

Sylus then stepped back, straightening his posture. He could clearly see surprise on Zayne’s face, but he had to remain resolute in his own restraint.

This was a brand new situation for his beloved, something he doesn’t fully understand nor believe in yet… and it has been so long since they’ve last seen each other. It would’ve been foolish from Sylus to expect any sort of affection on Zayne’s end.

He just… needed to take it slowly. Not expect anything in return, now or ever.

They both have lived such different lives at the moment…

As a sharp breath escaped him, Sylus offered his hand to the doctor, Zayne automatically accepting it and shaking it.

“Thank you, doctor Zayne, for saving my life three weeks ago” the silver-head said in the gentlest tone possible, “Only fate could’ve placed me into your capable hands”

Zayne bit down on his lip, looking up at Sylus with glistening eyes, “Destiny was the one… that did this to us…”

Sylus had to chuckle, “True… but at least now, we might have a slight chance of fighting it”

They retracted their hands at the same time, the air between them heavy with all emotions they were feeling. But it was Zayne who broke the silence first:

“How are you so sure that now… it’s going to be different?”

Sylus had to snicker again, “Let’s just say… both you and I have a little divine force looking after us”

The doctor frowned, but a sudden realization in his gaze told Sylus everything he needed to know… and had allowed him to muster up the courage to say one final thing before leaving the office.

“Doc, I…. don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings” he muttered, his jaw clenching as Zayne adorned an even deeper frown.

But even that change in expression didn’t deter Sylus from saying what’s on his heart, “It’s… been centuries, two millennia… since we last saw each other. Of course I don’t expect you to just run into my arms like nothing happened… especially due to your own circumstances”

“Sylus, I-”

The silver-haired man shook his head, pleading only with his gaze to continue, “You don’t need to say anything… because the last thing I would want to do is upset you, or make you feel like you owe me something”, Sylus took another deep breath, “But… at least allow me to check up on you every now and then, to make sure you’re alright… and live a good life”

A long pause ensued, Zayne’s expression completely empty as he observed the other man. But, eventually he nodded, his voice gentle:

“Alright…”

Sylus smiled, nodding along before turning his heel to leave, “Whenever you’re ready to talk, for an explanation, contact me. I’ll make time for you, doc”

As he turned, Sylus could hear a sharp breath escape Zayne’s mouth, his voice deeper and shakier than before.

“So… after all these years… you were still looking for me? You still yearned…”

The silver-haired man smiled to himself, feeling a familiar tingle in the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve never stopped yearning…”

Mustering up the strength to move, Sylus headed towards the door of the office, opening his mouth to say his final goodbye to the man behind him… only to hear two words that made his heart soar.

“Sylus, wait-”

Without hesitation, the man turned on his heel, Zayne only inches away from him… and in the very next moment, his strong, yearning arms wrapped around him.

Sylus reciprocated, capturing the doctor into an embrace so tight he believed they’ll melt into each other.

Zayne’s face was now buried in the other’s shoulder, only quiet sobs and his body shaking showcasing the extent of his own longing.

“Zayne…” Sylus mouthed, planting a gentle kiss on the doctor’s neck.

“Call me how you used to…” Zayne demanded, his voice shaky, “Please…”

A smile, wider than any other, sprung on Sylus’ lips as he mumbled, “Sweetheart… my beloved…”

Zayne took several deep breaths as he broke their embrace, his cheeks wet as he looked up at Sylus.

He was the one to close the gap between their faces; he was the one to cup the man’s face in need and urgency, their lips melting into each other as if they have never even been separated.

Sylus himself couldn’t believe that what was happening in that moment was their true reality… but the moment their lips connected, his body and soul remembered.

He remembered the way Zayne’s body squirmed in his embrace, how his Foreseer loved to bury his long fingers in his silver hair, the suppressed and labored breaths his beloved would let out whenever his yearning became too much.

Out of old habit, Sylus gently raised the doctor by the waist, slowly carrying him towards the table, their lips never once separating.

“Not… now…” Zayne mumbled into the other’s lips, never making a real effort to break the contact-

A knock at the door was something neither of them heard, but the subsequent words made them freeze up:

“Sylus, the twins have called; we need to- OH GOD!” Livia exclaimed before slamming the door shut, her voice high-pitched as she yelled from the hallway, “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING! I’M SO SORRY!”

The two men remained baffled for a moment or two, only to start chuckling and wheezing at the sudden interruption.

“If she hadn’t come in…” Sylus eventually purred, looking deep into Zayne’s eyes, “I would’ve probably ravaged you right here on this table”

“Don’t say such things…” Zayne scolded him, his voice tender as a mischievous smile spread on his lips, “But… you better leave… someone we don’t want might actually walk in”

Sylus sighed, lowering his head on the doctor’s shoulder. He didn’t want to leave… but he knew he had to…

“Call me as soon as you can, alright?” he eventually said upon rising his gaze, planting a gentle peck on the doctor’s lips and cheek, “I know you’re busy saving lives, but-”

Zayne shushed him; one long finger lay across Sylus’ lips “I won’t keep you waiting for centuries this time… I promise”

Sylus couldn’t help but smile back at Zayne, planting a small kiss on the very finger that managed to silence him.

The two soon parted, barely able to keep their composure… but one thing neither of them wanted to hide was the new glint that had appeared in both of their eyes.

After centuries upon centuries of waiting… they were finally reunited.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒