#No matter how many excuses he will make about being too tired.

[hungrytummyprompts]

How about tired with a side of extra whump?

As soon as the door closed behind him, Kurt collapsed straight into his bed. He didn't even bother removing his shoes, or his hero gear. Hell, the hero gear was best left on as much as possible. He'd live in it if he could, it was the one thing he had that protected his skin from his own powers. Anyway, his main goal for now was to just sleep until he felt at least a little rested, which would be...six years perhaps? Yeah, that was in line with how exhausted he felt now. He'd even elected to stay in a room in the team base instead of making his way home home, even though that would certainly leave him more at risk of Katharine's nagging about getting injuries seen to or whatever else. Honestly, she was worse than his ex sometimes.

It probably would have been easier to sleep if he had let her treat his wounds. Then he would just have to deal with the nausea that came with the excess acid in his system (thanks, acid powers) and the way that excess acid made it difficult to eat properly.

Speaking of which, he was starving. As usual. His belly gave its usual complaints, a low, longing groan that bid him to get out of bed and go back to the common room. He pushed himself up on his arms, yawned and decided 'fuck it'. A second later, he was face down in the pillow again.

Sleep didn't come easily, much to his chagrin. Despite his exhaustion, the aches and pains across his body digging into his psyche every time he tried to relax bothering him more than he'd care to admit. Hunger was digging at his belly like a frantic animal, and now he was no longer in the midst of battle his stomach decided it was cool to complain. He shifted position for a while, trying to get comfortable if it was the last thing he did, and ended up on his back, one leg bent up, one arm slung over his eyes, the other draped languidly over his poor neglected stomach. In this position he could really feel it sinking in from lack of food, each miserable grumble like a knife to his already sore body.

He didn't neglect it on purpose, of course. If he could control it, he'd be eating well every day, enough even to become good and fat. He imagined how it would feel to be completely stuffed with good food and thought it would be the ultimate fantasy.

The problem was his acid powers. His body naturally overproduced saliva, enough that he was either forced to swallow it down or spit it out with frankly ridiculous frequency. There was always a pause in conversation when it was his turn while he cleared his mouth of the latest stupid puddle. It meant he always had a huge amount to spit at enemies, but outside of a fight situation it was nothing but a pain.

Additionally, the saliva his body produced was a highly corrosive acid. More potent than anything else he'd encountered in his life so far. His body didn't seem properly equipped to handle it either. Any time it touched his skin, it burned. He had scars around his mouth, his lips mostly scar tissue, his hands and arms carrying the proof of old burns. The inside of his body had some protection. It still burned his mouth and throat, but not enough to cause obvious major damage. Sometimes he would gag as the acid slid down his throat, his body bringing it back up as it begged him to get rid of it, and jesus fuck did that hurt, and having more acid in his stomach than he was supposed to was just awful. It hurt, especially when his stomach was empty, it made him feel sick, it bloated him and gave him ulcers, it just sucked more than anything.

Overall, this made simply eating and drinking normally highly unpleasant. Anything in his mouth caused it to water, which of course meant more acid spit, it would quickly become some nasty mush before he could even chew it, his body would try to reject it when he swallowed, his stomach wouldn't even absorb whatever made it in properly and there was a fair chance he would throw up later.

Okay, maybe some of the neglect was willful avoidance of a very unpleasant process but mostly it was just hard to get anything good into his stomach. A stomach that was currently throwing an absolute tantrum in his exhausted body. He dug his fingers in against the miserable organ, just wishing it would stop. He was tired and just wanted to sleep without his tummy screaming at him. It was too much, he couldn't do it anymore.

At some point in the mess of misery, he must have fallen into a light sleep because he was startled awake by his door opening. He knew who it was without looking. The whole room stank of death and rot, which didn't help the nausea at all. He couldn't judge Katherine for it though, it was a shitty side effect of her powers too.

"Get out."

She instead placed something on the desk. He caught the scent of broth and groaned as his stomach clenched and howled. Katherine huffed.

"I could hear your stomach from all the way down the hall. Eat, you idiot."

He raised a hand and waved her away,  waited until he heard her leave and shut the door and sat up to look at what she had brought.

Soup.

Simple soup. Some kind of vegetable soup by the smell. His belly begged him to get up, take those few steps to the desk and eat the whole thing. When had he last eaten? It looked so good and he was so hungry, and he could tell what Katherine had meant. His tummy was growling non stop and so fucking loud, even before she'd brought the soup in. He contemplated dragging himself out of bed to eat.

Then lay back down with both hands pressed to his belly. He would eat later, he promised himself. For now, he was just too damn tired.

[koling2345]

Retired Simon| NSFW

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Retired! Simon who: Signed the papers to retire as soon as your daughter was born. He wouldn't risk his daughter growing up without a father and you becoming a widow. Never.

Retired! Simon who: Got a job in construction, it was nothing much, quite simple compared to what he'd already had in the army. What he had to do was more related to manual labor. Which he was already used to.

Retired! Simon who: Always came home at six, all tired and sweaty from an exhausting day's work. Working as a construction helper wasn't easy, but for someone who had already worked in much worse situations, it seemed like a piece of cake.

Retired! Simon who: Loved the feeling of coming home, and seeing you and his daughter waiting for him, you with a smile on your face, and the little girl speaking some gibberish, and making loud noises when she saw her father. It was a little piece of heaven on earth.

Retired! Simon who: Was crazy about your food, there was nothing better than coming home and smelling the food you made, it made his stomach rumble. That's why you always made extra food, because he ate like an elephant, literally, you could fill his plate, and he would repeat it. He just loved your food.

Retired! Simon who: Didn't take long to acquire a sweet tooth, your desserts just ruined him. Even if he ate more than enough at dinner, there was always more room for whatever dessert you made. Cake? Oh, he'd eat half the cake in one day, especially if you put icing on it. From time to time, he would eat your sweets and steal your chocolate from the fridge. So it was no surprise when you shouted 'Simon Riley' around the house. He already knew the crime he'd committed, and he wasn't the least bit sorry.

Retired! Simon who: Absolutely adored coming home to hear your little girl talking, she still struggled to pronounce the right words, but Simon made an effort to understand the little princess, even if she said silly childish things. Since she was always complaining about how tiring her day was, that she did a lot of things. She'd only put her toys back in the toy box.

Retired! Simon who: Loved it when you'd bring him lunch at work, it was a good excuse to chat with you during his break. As well as stealing a few kisses from you. Sometimes even something more.

Retired! Simon who: No matter how tired he was, he always put your little girl to sleep, telling her her favorite princess story, watching as she slowly fell asleep. Every time Simon saw his daughter sleeping so peacefully, he felt his heart flutter. It was a view he would never be tired of.

Retired! Simon who: Helped you with the housework, hated you being overwhelmed, so he washed the dinner dishes, put the clothes in the wash, prepared a bath for you. He himself would rather die of exhaustion than see you doing too many chores. He was your husband, so he always helped you. He always put you first, even if he arrived completely exhausted. It was nothing much, just him being a descent husband, as you deserved.

Retired! Simon who: Sometimes he came home so tired, all he wanted was a good head, his body was so sore, all he wanted was to sit on the sofa and let you do the work, getting down on your knees and deep- throat him. Just the way he loved it, his cock shoved into your mouth, the tip of it hitting the back of your throat, while you looked up at him, eyes filling with tears, you obeyed his words of encouragement, always taking him deeper. Until you choked, and he pushed deep into your throat.

Retired! Simon who: Always gave you rewards after a well-delivered oral, this consisted of waking you up with him right between your legs, head buried between your thighs while he lapped you up. Sucking your clit really hard, just to hear you wake up, moaning and whimpering that you were sensitive. Not that he was going to stop, because he was working on you even more.

Retired! Simon who: Loved the lazy sex sessions in the morning, he loved seeing you all sensitive and sly, taking his cock so well, even though you were drunk with sleep. Sometimes he'd just turn you over and put his cock in your sopping cunt, because he knew you were always ready for him. You were made for him, after all.

Retired! Simon who: Was a complete slut for you, could never keep his hands off you, sometimes even at work he would ask for photos, so he could jerk off and relieve a little of his stress. And he would definitely fuck you hard when he got home.

Retired! Simon who: Also loved having romantic sex with you, having you on his lap while you rode his cock, slowly, at your own pace. His hands on your hips while the two of you kissed, whispering sweet nothings to each other. He liked it so much, he couldn't feel your pussy clenching around his girth, he'd come just like that. Your fault for doing it so well.

Retired! Simon who: Never thought he wanted to have a big family, until you got pregnant. After your first child, he certainly wanted more, of course, if you wanted them too. And given the countless times he's taken you around the house, it wouldn't be a surprise if you turned up pregnant once again.

Retired! Simon who: Wouldn't trade anything, absolutely anything, for his family. As much as he loved his old job, nothing was better than coming home, warm food, a sweet little girl, and a beautiful wife, that was priceless. And he'd be crazy to let that go.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Hi guys! Sorry for disappearing, I'm just posting to let you know I'm alive. If I manage to post anything in the next few days, it's scheduled, I won't be able to answer comments or questions, I'm in my college exam week 😐. I'm totally cooked🫠, so I should only be around for the next week! I'm not ignoring anyone, I promise to reply as soon as I can 🫶🏻

[tonysbed]

You belong with me | MV1

Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Max ruins any date you go onto, claiming it was either a coincidence or the guy was shit..

warnings: idiots to lovers, swearing, crying, bit of a misunderstanding (reader is an overthinker like all of us)

main masterlist

-

You don’t know when it started, but you do know that it’s starting to piss you off.

Because at this point, it’s not even subtle anymore.

Every single date you go on? Ruined.

Not in an obvious, throw-a-drink-in-your-face kind of way—no, that would be too easy. Instead, it’s always conveniently timed interruptions, coincidental run-ins, or your date suddenly deciding he’s not that into you after one too many glares from across the room.

And the common denominator?

Max fucking Verstappen.

Your best friend—who, apparently, has made it his life’s mission to sabotage every attempt you make at having a love life.

Tonight is no different.

You had a good feeling about this one. He was nice, funny, normal—a rare find in your world. Dinner had been going well, conversation flowing, and you had even allowed yourself to relax, to think that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

And then, of course—

“Oh, wow. Crazy running into you here.”

You swear to God, you almost stab him with your fork.

Max stands at the edge of your table, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t just walk into this restaurant with the sole intention of ruining your night.

Your date glances between the two of you, oblivious. “Oh, you guys know each other?”

You grit your teeth. “Unfortunately.”

Max grins. “She loves me, really.”

Your date laughs. Laughs. Like this is all just some funny coincidence.

You know better.

Max strikes up a conversation with him, effortlessly steering things in a direction that makes the guy start to feel out of place, like he doesn’t belong in your world. By the time the check arrives, he’s already making some excuse about an early morning, giving you an apologetic smile before heading out.

And just like that, another one bites the dust.

You stay seated, arms crossed, as Max slides into the now-vacant seat across from you. “You’re a menace.”

He steals a fry off your plate. “He was boring.”

You groan. “Oh my God. That’s not for you to decide, Max!”

He shrugs. “Just looking out for you.”

“No, you’re being a controlling asshole.”

His brows furrow slightly. “It’s not like that.”

You exhale sharply, pushing your plate away. “Then what is it like, Max? Because I can’t keep doing this. Every time I start to like someone, you show up and ruin it.”

He doesn’t say anything, which only makes the frustration boil over.

“Is it fun for you? Do you get some kind of thrill out of watching me end up alone?”

Max flinches, like you actually hit him. “Jesus, that’s not—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you snap.

His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists on the table. His whole body is wound tight, like he’s holding something back.

And then—

“They’re not me.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unmovable.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

Max exhales, looking almost… defeated. “They’re not me. And you deserve—” He stops, shaking his head. “You deserve someone who already knows all your little quirks. Someone who doesn’t need to ‘get to know you’ because he’s already been there through everything.”

You swallow, pulse hammering. “Max—”

“You deserve someone who gets that you overthink everything, who already knows exactly how to talk you down from it. Someone who doesn’t get tired of your rants about the smallest things, who actually likes listening to you talk, even when it’s about shit he doesn’t understand.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You deserve someone who would never fucking leave, no matter how much you push him away. Someone who—” He looks away, voice quieter. “Someone who already loves you.”

Your heart is pounding.

The weight of his words crashes over you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Max watches you, eyes guarded, like he’s bracing for impact.

And suddenly, it all clicks.

The ruined dates. The coincidences. The way he’s always there, standing between you and anyone who so much as tries to get close.

It was never about them.

It was always about you.

And, more importantly—

It was always about him.

Your throat tightens. “You… you never said anything.”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “And what would I have said? That I’ve been in love with my best friend since before I even knew what the fuck that meant?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Max…”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Just forget it, okay? It’s fine. I just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you grab his face in your hands and kiss him.

Max stills for half a second, like he can’t quite believe it’s happening. Then—he melts into you, hands finding your waist, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this forever.

And maybe he has.

And maybe, so have you.

When you finally pull away, he looks at you, eyes searching. “So… you’re not going to kill me?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Oh, I definitely am. Just—later.”

Max grins. “I can work with that.”

-

bsf!reader is the best 🧚

[ohdeerfully]

I just read one of your works with Alastor ears and KAKAISKSNSMSDHJSJ IT WAS ADORABLE, can you write one about the reader finding out Alastor has a tail and he's all flustered and nervous about it because well HES THE RADIO DEMON HES SCARY and he can't be scary when his tail wags when the reader praises him (MAKE IT WHOLESOME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE)

HELLOOO I LOVE ALASTOR TAIL!! tail + more sleepytime = deadly fic combo THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!

Silky Fur

alastor x reader (comfort/fluff) TW: none? join my discord!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

After a year of being together, you and Alastor had fallen into a rather steady nightly routine, though sometimes he was too busy with Satan Knows What and would leave the hotel and you wondering if he would come back to you for the night. When this happened, you often didn’t see him till the next morning—or, even the afternoon.

Lately, that “sometimes” had turned into every night. For the past week. And it was starting to make you feel… kind of shitty, you couldn’t even lie to yourself. You spent so many hours reasoning and making excuses for him—he was an Overlord, after all. No wonder he was so busy! Plus, you just so happened to fall into his life; you shouldn’t expect him to just give up his duties for you.

You looked at the ceiling, arms spread out on either side of you as you tried to convince yourself to stop feeling bad for the sixth night in a row. You missed him next to you, and started to find it harder and harder to get to sleep without his company. You craved him, and you wondered if he craved you in the same way—if he even missed you.

You sat up with a groan after a few more minutes, letting your feet dangle off the side of the bed. It was pointless, you decided, just laying down doing nothing. If you couldn’t sleep, you might as well go do something productive. You threw on a hoodie and made your way down the long corridor, and then down the steps.

This late in the night, the sky had an eerie red glow. It filtered through the curtains of the large hotel windows, casting long, sharp shadows that made your skin crawl if you looked too long. No matter how long you lived in Hell, you never got used to the unfriendly ambience. You had to remind yourself that you were safe in the hotel. You stuffed your hands in the pockets of your hoodie and looked towards your feet as you walked.

There was some paperwork regarding a couple residents you promised Charlie you would help her process. So, you decided you could get a headstart on finishing them, although you didn’t really see the point in the paperwork itself; it was all just going to be horrible criminal records that Charlie would try desperately to ignore.

You opted for the hotel lobby over the cramped office, spreading out the papers across the low coffee table. It wasn’t very comfortable, but you were glad to at least be out of the room.

You sat for a mind numbing amount of time, only listening to the ticking of a faint clock as you processed the information for the residents. It was times like this that made you want to curse Alastor for refusing to allow any sort of modern technology into the hotel. You get it, of course, with Vox and all—but, man, what you wouldn’t give to just have an easy spreadsheet to type this all into.

If you weren’t tired before, you sure were now. Your eyes drug across the papers, blearily taking in the information. You blinked heavily, trying to rid your vision of the tears of exhaustion. You slumped back with a sigh, the pages loosely held in your hands as you rested your eyes for a moment.

Bad idea.

Almost immediately, sleep overtook you, papers slipping through your fingers and drifting across the floor in every direction as your consciousness faded away.

You woke again when you felt your body jostling, then suddenly lifted. It took a minute to wake up enough to peer through cracked eyelids and see that you were being carried up the hotel stairs. You felt familiar arms cradling your back and legs, and the firmness of a chest that your head rested against.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. That staticy feeling in the air and prickling your skin was enough to know. You let your body relax again, but couldn’t seem to catch sleep again.

He hummed a gentle tune as he walked, using his knee to turn the doorknob to your shared room. He pushed it open with his shoulder and walked you in.

You felt the plush sheets of your bed as he sat you down, but you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position to look at him. Stare at him. You hoped he could pick apart your emotions just by the way you glared. If he did, he made no attempt at asking what was wrong, and merely looked back at you with his slightly glowing red eyes and wide grin.

“You’ll hurt your back, falling asleep on the couch like that!” He started to chastise you playfully. He turned his back to you and opened up a drawer against the wall.

“Where have you been, Al,” You asked, ignoring his comment. You looked towards your feet. It was hard questioning him, because he didn’t take much seriously, no matter how serious you felt. There was a lump in your throat as you spoke.

“Busy as usual, my dear,” He replied in a sing-song voice. A quiet jazz tune emanated from the microphone atop his cane. Or, would that make it a radio? Both, probably. He rummaged through that drawer for a moment, before pulling out a thin, plain shirt and fuzzy pajama pants.

He walked back over to you, and you noticed the way his eyes flicked across your face, examining your expression. Still, he said nothing. You’d like to think he felt guilty, and didn’t want to admit it—but, truly, you doubted it. He wasn’t one for guilt, after all.

“I’ve been pretty lonely for a week, you know,” You said, folding your arms. “I’d at least like a better explanation.”

You allowed your arms to fall when he pulled at your elbows. You lifted them above your head as he gingerly gripped the edges of your hoodie and pulled it off. He quickly replaced it with the shirt he had grabbed earlier. He followed similar motions with your pants.

As angry as you were, you appreciated intimate moments like this with him. Moments so close, so vulnerable and bare, but still comfortable and sensitive. It was weird, with him being the Radio Demon and all.

“Maintaining turfs and deals is exhausting work, ma moitie, and there’s a few souls that haven’t been keeping up with their side of our bargains,” Alastor explained rather indifferently. Though, you could tell by the strain in his smile and the clipping in the radio static that he was trying his best to be delicate and honest—as possible as that is with Alastor.

“Just– tell me something next time, at least, ‘kay?” You felt embarrassed by the practically begging tone in your voice, but Alastor didn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose it is wrong for a gentleman to leave his lady questioning,” Alastor joked. He meant it, though, and he carefully smoothed your hair in an attempt at comfort.

He stepped away from you, and you frowned at the sudden space. The frown was quickly replaced by a wide smile when you noticed Alastor removing his sharp coat and carefully hanging it by the door.

What a treat, you thought, as you watched him discard the layers of his outfit. Your mouth fell open when he turned his back to you.

“You have a tail?” You asked. Alastor’s ears twitched back for a moment, stiff.

Clear as day, right in front of your eyes, was a tail you had somehow never seen before. Delicate, fluffy, and red with black—just like his ears. You couldn’t stop the stunned laugh that escaped your mouth.

“Regretfully, I do,” Alastor responded. He quickly turned back to face you. His nose was scrunched in disdain and his lips were curled in a frustrated smile. “Don’t talk about it. To anybody.”

You laughed again and quickly beckoned him towards the bed. He complied and sat down next to you. He had noticeably sat in such a way that his waist was angled to keep his tail out of sight. 

You pouted at him, wordlessly motioning towards what you both knew you wanted.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m not a pet, nor a toy,” He said roughly. The static in his voice was heavy. You knew he was embarrassed, and that made your grin all the wider. It probably rivaled his own harsh smile.

“I’ll never, ever, ever ask again, ever,” You promised, holding out your pinky. Alastor’s eyes rolled at the motion. Alternatively, he held out his palm for you to shake.

You eyed his hand, then looked back up to him. You jerked your pinky towards him, urging him to take it instead. You weren’t about to actually bind your promise in a real deal. You knew in, like, a week you would probably beg him to see his tail again. 

“How incredibly childish,” He sighed. Still, he curled his hand into a fist and connected his sharp pinky with your own. “I won’t forget about this.” He threatened.

“Yeah, yeah, show me the goods,” You said with a sly smile. Alastor stared at you for a few seconds, narrowed his eyes, and roughly twisted his waist so that his tail turned towards you. He kicked his leg up and over the other, and folded his arms all sassy-like and impatiently waited for you to finish your very important mission.

You smiled gratefully, and gingerly settled your hands on the tail. It was so incredibly soft. As much hatred he seemed to hold for the thing, Alastor obviously took great care in the fur, keeping it silky smooth and combed. 

It seemed sensitive, and you noticed how his ears twitched and turned in response to your touch. His eyes were cast away from you, and his brows were furrowed. Was he blushing? No, probably a trick of the light.

“Your tail is super soft, Al,” You complimented. “Probably the best in all of Hell.”

“Are you quite finished,” He asked through gritted teeth, his eyes clenched shut. His own body betrayed him, though, as his tail wagged at you slightly. You held in a squeal of delight at the sight, knowing he would probably leave you right then and there. However, you had been at it for a few minutes and didn’t want to push your luck any further. You sighed in response, and removed your fingers from his tail. 

“I guess, for now,” You said playfully. This elicited a sharp look from the Radio Demon.

“For forever,” He claimed. “We shook pinkies.” 

You managed to hold in the laugh from his words. It was impossible to take him seriously as he said that, especially as he sat with a tail on full display and ears quirked backwards in embarrassment.

You yawned, opting to stop responding to him. You tugged at the hem of his shirt as you fell back into the mattress, and he easily let himself fall alongside you. He was settled next to you, and you practically magnetically attached yourself to him. He was stiff for a few minutes, but slowly unwound and relaxed next to you.

It didn’t take long at all for you to fall asleep. With the familiar heat and weight of his body in the mattress next to you, you were comfortable again for the first time in a week. The feeling of Alastor’s nails playing through your hair was the final straw as a deep sleep erased your senses.

[ene-ask]

Alright, you know what time it is, NERD RANT TIME! Cause omg I'm literally in tears from that last comic, the feels! 😭❤️

So! We finally get to see what happened after Insignificant before Jazz's arrival, but not in the way we think! Orion, or in this case Optimus, is most likely telling D-16, who I assume is now Megatron, that he did hear him and tell him how he felt. Optimus says that Orion(easier this way for me) at the time felt like he should've "known better" than to wallow over D's words about him when speaking with Elita, taking note on how D-16 still stayed to comfort him despite it not being his character at all, and how D-16 wouldn't leave no matter how many excuses Orion gave.

D-16 knew where to find Orion(in this little secret spot), the way D-16 gently cups Orion's face to wipe his tears and ask what made him this way, or who made him cry. Then D-16 most likely tried to take Orion elsewhere to calm him down, cheer him up, or to take him to get some rest. Then it starts raining, and this is my favorite part cause now it makes sense

In I Wore Yours Before, that wasn't a face of exhaustion, that was a tired face that became surprised/shocked at the gesture D-16 did. D is the one who follows all the rules, including the ones about the garment, and wouldn't dare break it. Yet, in that moment Orion is at his most vulnerable, D-16 himself too decided to let himself be vulnerable for a moment just to comfort the mech he loves.

And this shocks Orion at the time! Cause he did not expect that, but as Optimus continues to talk, saying that's how he knew when D put his garment over Orion, that he knew he always come first! Ugh! My heart! No matter how selfish, stubborn, or just ignorant D-16/Megatron is, he will always put Orion first when Orion needs someone to lean on. Even Optimus tells Megatron to just say his feelings, saying it wasn't hard. While Megatron could take it as a way of Optimus mocking him, he knows it's not, Optimus probably finds it silly that it took Megatron this long, even when known as D-16, to just say he loves him, and Orion most likely happily accepted that love.....unless this is a doomed yaoi by narrative but HEY WE ALL LOVE THESE TWINKS AND WANNA WATCH THEM MAKEOUT!

Also, just point this out cause omg

This part right here, added with Orion trying to tell D to not worry is what really got me. It got me in tears cause the amount of times I STILL DO THIS MYSELF UGH IM A CRYBABY I KNOW BUT I CANT HELP IT THE PAIN IS SO RELATABLE!

We love you energ00n! Can't wait for more!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Thank you so much for your love!!!! This comic draft has been sitting in my folder for like over a month (before Jazz's arrival was drafted) and I'm happy to finally draw it. I thought that it might not matter but I think it's necessary to explain why Orion was not avoiding D or confronted him. Not that he "should've known", Orion knew!! Orion knew those were just bluffs!! He knew D cared for him despite everything because how could he not? It was obvious!

Tho I'd note that Optimus was simply making Megatron admit his guts on that particular event. It's a confession, not the confession.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Summary: Max and Lucas are tired of their friends silently pining over each other but never making a move, so when the Winter Formal rolls around, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluffy fluff

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Happy anniversary to the love of my life, @corroded-hellfire 💚 one year ago today, we met in person for the first time, and my life has been infinitely better ever since. Thank you for being my best friend. I love you more than Dustin loves his Weird Al shirt. Red, this fic is for you.

Divider credit to @saradika

“Kill me now.”

Three words uttered by none other than Max Mayfield, sliding her lunch tray onto the table and sitting down with an irritated sigh. 

You look at her with an amused grin. “What is it this time? Bombed a pop quiz? Got detention for flipping off a teacher—again?” Her brazen, flippant attitude provided many entertaining moments, so long as you weren’t on the receiving end of it. 

Max shakes her head, spearing a limp macaroni noodle with her plastic fork. “I wish.” She holds up two tickets to the Winter Formal. “Lucas is dragging me to this bullshit. ‘All the other basketball guys’ girlfriends are going,’” she mocks him in an octave much lower than his actual voice, “so I guess that means I have to follow suit.”

Bringing a hand to your heart, you jut out your lower lip in mock-pity. “Oh, no; your boyfriend wants to show you off at a school dance! How will you ever survive?” 

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “You could go, too,” she says, blue eyes pleading. “Keep me company when the guys inevitably bail to get wasted in the woods.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need a date,” she insists, reading your mind before the words can leave your mouth. “I’m telling you, Lucas is gonna ditch me as soon as Jason and Patrick show up.” She takes your hand between both of hers. “Please? I’ll even tell Ms. Kelly the lengths you went to for your poor, troubled freshie.”

You exhale, knowing that she doesn’t need to go to all of that trouble. You’d started off the school year as her peer mentor, but just a few months later, you two have become close friends. “Fine, I’ll go,” you acquiesce, laughing when she pumps her fists victoriously. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

You return to your own lunch, completely missing the mischievous look that graces her freckled face. 

Unbeknownst to you, a similar discussion is had at Hellfire Club later that same afternoon. 

“Absolutely not,” Eddie scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Nice try, Sinclair, but I wouldn’t be caught dead at some lame dance.”

“Seriously,” Jeff smirks from his position across the table. “He’s never been to a single one in his ten years of high school.”

Eddie flips him off casually. “It’s only six, asshole. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not dressing up in some penguin suit to drink unspiked punch with a bunch of shitty people.”

“C’mon, dude,” Lucas says, his tone bordering on a whine. “If you don’t go, I’m gonna be stuck with the jocks all night, and they just wanna suck face with their girlfriends.”

“And you don’t?” Gareth quips. 

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Not in front of everyone. And I don’t need a front-row seat to their performances, either.” He turns his attention back to the Dungeon Master. “Look, I’m desperate. Mike’ll be visiting his grandma and Dustin’s grounded because of his D-plus in Spanish.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What about Huey, Dewey, and Louie over here?” he asks, gesturing to the three remaining club members. 

Their collective responses are jumbled excuses; Eddie swears one of them says he’s going kayaking—in mid-December in Indiana—but he doesn’t bother to sift through their lies. “You owe me, Sinclair,” he declares, pointing his forefinger at the underclassman. “Big time.”

The next few weeks leading up to the Winter Formal are spent meticulously making plans. For someone who seemed so disinterested in this dance, Max is paying careful attention to each detail. 

You walk out of the dressing room in a velvet emerald green dress that hits just above the knee. Max is beaming as she adjusts the off-the-shoulder sleeves and smooths down any creases. 

“You look really nice,” she says, nodding her head. She’s trying to temper her enthusiasm, but you can sense her excitement. “I can’t wait to tell Lucas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lucas? Why would he care?” He’s a nice kid—more in tune with emotions than the average fourteen-year-old boy—but that doesn’t constitute an interest in your fashion choices. 

Max’s cheeks burn as red as her hair. “Uh, well, seeing you happy makes me happy, and seeing me happy makes him happy, so…everyone’s happy?” she finishes lamely. She clears her throat as if expelling the awkwardness from the conversation. “Anyway, let’s buy this dress so we can look for shoes.”

“Yeah, okay.” You’re not fully convinced, but you brush it off and steel your nerves to ask a question. “Is anyone else gonna be there that we know?” You really want to know whether Eddie Munson is going to be there, but you can’t say the quiet part aloud. 

“Probably,” she shrugs, a bit too quickly, but she’s pushing you back behind the curtain to change before you can inquire more. 

“Why does this stupid tie need to be green?” Eddie asks, sifting through the store’s selection with Lucas by his side. 

“Uh, Christmas colors,” Lucas stammers, fumbling for a decent explanation other than the contents of his secret phone call with Max earlier today. “And, y’know, red is way overdone, so…” he trails off lamely, going back to the display table and hoping Eddie drops the matter. 

They find exactly what they’re looking for—not without Eddie complaining about putting in too much effort just to be a third wheel—and make their way over to the food court. Eddie makes a beeline for the Pizza Hut when he stops dead in his tracks. “Shit, Sinclair; we gotta go,” he says urgently, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and steering him away from the fast food. 

“What the hell? I’m hungry!”

Eddie shakes his head, curls brushing against his shoulders. “Look, man.” He discreetly points to his left, where you and Max are giggling at the Orange Julius. “We can’t let them see us.”

“Dude, she’s like the nicest person ever,” Lucas rebuts. “Even Max likes her, and Max pretty much hates everyone.”

“That’s not the problem.” Eddie rakes his ringed fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags one on a knot. “The problem is that she’s gonna be all, ‘hi, Eddie; what’re you doing at the mall?’ And I’m gonna be all, ‘just picking out a tie for the Winter Formal.” And then she’ll go, ‘oh, who’s your date?” And then I’ll have to say, ‘I don’t have one; I’m just playing babysitter to some freshmen like a goddamn loser!” He hops back and forth to indicate each character change.

“First of all, ouch,” Lucas quips, “second, go hide in the bathroom if you want, but I’m getting something to eat.”

Eddie exhales an exasperated sigh, giving in and schlepping over to Pizza Hut, one of the few times in his life that he’s trying to be inconspicuous. 

You pull into the school parking lot on the night of the Winter Formal and shift into park before killing the engine. Max is bouncing her leg up and down in the passenger seat, lower lip tucked between her teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, mistaking her excitement for anxiety. “You know that Lucas would think you look beautiful even if you showed up in a potato sack.” You furrow your brow. “Where is he, anyway? Why didn’t he come with us?”

She mumbles something about not wanting her mom to ask any questions about the relationship, and you take them at face value. Her eyes light up when she spots her boyfriend walking into the school alongside…Eddie Munson?

“Eddie’s here?” you ask in a hushed whisper, feeling sweat prickling under your arms. You’ve been nursing a massive crush on him for ages–one that Max is very much aware of. And now he’s here, dressed in a black suit with his hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. “Max, why didn’t you tell me? Who’s he going with?” The idea of him slow dancing with someone else has your stomach turning.

Max just shrugs. “I don’t think he had a date.” Too casual, too blasé–she knows something. “C’mon, let’s go in.” She swings the car door open enthusiastically, leaving you shell-shocked in your seat.

“Maxine Mayfield!” you hiss, using her full government name to drive home your bewilderment, but she just skips ahead. Damn your heeled shoes, slowing you down before you can catch up to her. When you finally do, she just grabs your hand and tugs you towards the guys.

She poorly feigns surprise, jaw dropping as she exclaims, “Eddie? What are you doing here? Oh, my gosh, this is such a coincidence!” She pulls you closer, smiling far too wide. “Lucas and I both brought our upperclassmen friends! What are the odds?”

“Yeah, so weird,” Lucas says, not as loud as Max but just as transparent. He looks at Max before regarding you and Eddie. “Okay, well, we’re gonna go dance–bye!” The two of them scamper off, leaving you alone with Eddie. If their stilted dialogue wasn’t evidence enough, the way Eddie’s tie perfectly matches your dress certainly clears up their intentions.

Eddie speaks first, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and nervously swiveling his body. “I, uh, think we’ve been set up,” he says with a small, awkward chuckle. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea. Not–not that it’s a bad thing, I just meant, like, if you’re uncomfortable with this, I don’t wanna be held responsible.” His cheeks burn red. “Shit, I need to stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with your own kind laugh, “we might as well make the most of it. Get some punch and make fools of ourselves out there?” You gesture towards the gym’s makeshift dance floor; the band has just started playing Journey’s “Faithfully.” Eddie’s nods, following you to an empty space, and you timidly drape your arms over his shoulders. Taking care to avoid an inappropriate touch, he rests his palms on the small of your back. 

His voice is low when he murmurs in your ear, “you look really beautiful tonight.” He clears his throat and speaks again. “You always look really beautiful, though.”

The two of you sway to the music, swapping shy smiles and fleeting but longing glances. As the song ends, you look over your shoulder. “We’re being spied on,” you report, noting the way the two younger kids are watching you from across the room. You consider your next words before eventually deciding to go for it: “Did you talk to Lucas about me as much as I talked to Max about you?”

“Probably more,” Eddie laughs, bringing you a bit closer. “But I’m interested in comparing notes.”

You nod, staving off any lingering nerves. “Maybe after the dance, we can split a burger from Benny’s and discuss?”

Eddie presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he says; you can feel his lips move against your skin, “I’d like that.”

--

[movingmusically]

can you do a austin butler x reader imagine where Austin and the reader get in an argument because austin is so worked focused that he barely makes time for their relationship. Because of the argument the reader leaves Austin for like two weeks but they eventually make up and things get better.

Word Count: 11.9k

Masterlist

The Space Between Us

You

The clock on the wall reads 11:42 PM when Austin finally walks through the door. You don’t look up at first. You just sit there on the couch, TV playing something you’re not really watching, fingers curled around the sleeve of your sweatshirt. You’d been waiting.

Again.

Austin doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air as he drops his keys onto the counter, his phone still in his hand, scrolling through whatever email or message he missed in the past thirty seconds. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs distractedly, barely glancing at you as he toes off his boots. “Sorry I’m late. Filming ran over.”

Your chest tightens. Of course it did. You force yourself to take a slow breath before replying, keeping your voice even. “It always does.”

That makes him pause. Not fully, but enough that his thumbs stop moving over his phone screen for a second before he finally looks up. “What?”

You shake your head, staring at the TV, even though you couldn’t name a single thing that just happened in the show. “Nothing.”

Austin exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he walks closer, finally slipping his phone into his pocket. “Come on, don’t do that,” he says, his voice laced with tired frustration. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you’ve been having this exact conversation for months—sitting on this same couch, waiting up for him, trying to be okay with the fact that you are slowly becoming just another thing he keeps pushing aside. You look at him now, really look at him, and he doesn’t even seem to realise it. So you brush it off. You swallow it down like you always do, because maybe you’re just overreacting, right? Maybe you’re being unfair. You inhale sharply, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Austin sighs, running a hand through his hair before pulling his phone out again, scrolling absently. “Oh—” he mutters, reading something. “Sunday… shit, I forgot I’ve got dinner with that producer. Shouldn’t take long, though.”

Your stomach drops. Sunday. You stare at him for a second, heart pounding, trying to see if this is some kind of joke. Because Sunday? You already had plans. Plans that had been made weeks ago.

“Austin,” you say slowly, voice too even, too careful. “We’re supposed to go to dinner on Sunday.”

He frowns slightly, still looking at his phone. “What?”

“For my sister’s birthday.”

That makes him freeze. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and you see the exact moment he realises. The moment he remembers. Shit. Your throat tightens. “We’ve had it planned for weeks.”

Austin swears under his breath, rubbing his face, shaking his head. “Babe, I—I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

You nod stiffly, feeling the pressure build behind your eyes. “Yeah. I figured.”

“I’ll—I’ll try to move the meeting,” he says quickly, straightening up. “I can talk to them, see if—” “Don’t,” you cut him off, voice flat. “It’s fine.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s fine, Austin.” You let out a breath, forcing a tight smile. “I’ll just go alone. Again.”

Austin exhales, stepping closer, reaching for you. “Baby, come on, I—”

But it’s too late. Because now you see it all so clearly. How many times you’ve made excuses for him. How many times you’ve shown up alone, smiled at your family and told them, he’s just really busy right now, but he wishes he could be here. How many times he’s forgotten. Not just small things. Big things. Things that mattered to you. You feel something snap inside you. And suddenly, you can’t do this anymore. You stand up abruptly, and Austin blinks in surprise as you brush past him, heading for the bedroom.

“Y/N,” he sighs, turning to follow you. “Seriously, what is this about?”

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides as you spin around, finally meeting his gaze head-on.

“This is about the fact that I feel like I don’t even exist in your life anymore, Austin!” The words come out louder than you expected, but once they start, you can’t stop. “You’re always on set, always working, always answering a million calls and emails, and I get it—I do. Your career is important, you’ve worked so hard to get here, and I would never ask you to choose between that and me. But I can’t be the only one making time for us.”

Austin’s face tightens. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Tell me, when was the last time we spent more than a few hours together without you being distracted by work?”

Austin exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Y/N. I mean, this is just how it is right now. You knew my schedule wouldn’t be easy.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, stung by how dismissive that sounds. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” you repeat, voice quieter now. “But I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Austin’s expression falters, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Like what?”

Like I’m always waiting for you to come home. Like I don’t matter enough for you to make time. Like I’m slipping further and further away from you, and you don’t even see it. But you can’t say any of that. Because if he doesn’t already know—if he hasn’t already felt the weight of it, too—then what’s the point? Instead, you just shake your head, backing toward the dresser and grabbing your overnight bag.

Austin’s brows pull together. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer, not right away. You just start packing.

“Y/N,” his voice is sharper now, more alert. He steps forward, his presence suddenly unshakable, right in front of you. “Hey. Stop for a second.”

You don’t.

“Y/N,” he tries again, this time softer. “Where are you going?”

You hate how your hands tremble when you shove clothes into the bag, hate how your voice cracks when you say, “I don’t know, Austin. But I can’t just sit here waiting for you to remember I exist.”

Silence. Thick and heavy.

His jaw tightens. “So what? You’re just gonna leave?”

You freeze. Then you look up at him, and something inside you snaps. “I already feel like I’m not here half the time, Austin.” Your voice wavers, but you don’t look away. “So yeah. I guess I am.”

Austin swallows hard, his hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know how. “Y/N…” His voice is quieter now, pleading.

Your chest aches, because you want him to fight for this, for you. But he doesn’t. Not really. Because he still doesn’t get it. He thinks this is just an argument, something that will blow over in a few hours. He doesn’t realise that this is you breaking. You shake your head, exhaling sharply. “Would you even notice, Austin?”

His brows knit together. “What?”

“If I left. If I really left. Would your life even be any different?” The words come out quieter than before, but they land heavier. “You already go days without seeing me, sometimes months. You forget things that matter to me. You fill every second with work until there’s no space for us anymore.”

Austin’s lips part, but no words come out.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “So tell me… if I wasn’t here when you got home tomorrow, or the next day, or the next—” your voice catches, but you push through, “—how long would it take for you to notice I was gone?”

Austin’s whole body goes still, his face paling like the weight of your words just slammed into him. He looks at you, really looks at you, and for the first time, something shifts behind his eyes—realisation, maybe. Or fear. But it’s too late.

Austin shifts, like he’s about to reach for you, but stops himself. His fingers flex at his sides, his throat working like he’s trying to say something, trying to fix this. But he doesn’t. And that’s the worst part.

You don’t wait for an answer. You turn, stepping through the door, and this time—you don’t look back. The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the silence between you. The TV still plays in the background, voices droning on, oblivious to the fact that everything just changed.

Austin

The door clicks shut. Austin doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at the spot where you were standing seconds ago, his breath uneven, his chest tight. This isn’t the first time you’ve argued. It’s not even the first time you’ve been upset with him for missing something important. But this is the first time you left.

The realisation sinks in slowly, like a weight pressing down on his chest. His ears ring in the silence you left behind, the house suddenly too still, too empty. His eyes flick to the empty space where your bag was, the dresser drawer you left half-open in a rush. You didn’t take much. Just enough. Because you’re coming back… right? You just needed space. A night away. That’s all.

Except—

His stomach twists. That’s not what this was. Your words hit him all over again, sharp and impossible to ignore now that you’re gone.

“Would you even notice, Austin?”

He runs a hand over his face, exhaling harshly, trying to shake the uncomfortable weight settling in his chest. Of course, he would’ve noticed. He would’ve noticed. Wouldn’t he? The thought makes his stomach churn. Because if he’s being honest with himself—really honest—he doesn’t know the answer. And that’s what scares him the most.

Austin paces the bedroom, his heart hammering harder than it should. He reaches for his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his call log. He could call. He should call. But his hands feel too shaky, too unsure—and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t know what to say. So instead, he just sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. And the silence doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like consequences.

1:24 AM

He’s still awake. The TV is playing something in the background, but he hasn’t looked at the screen once. The couch still smells like you—like your shampoo, your perfume, like the last lingering traces of your presence before you walked out the door. His phone is next to him, dark screen taunting him. He tried texting you once. Just to see if you were okay.

Austin: Where did you go?

No response. He didn’t expect one. Didn’t mean it hurt any less. His jaw clenches as he leans back against the couch, running a hand over his face. His mind keeps circling back to the same thought, the same gut-wrenching realisation that won’t let him sleep. You weren’t just mad tonight. You weren’t just frustrated about his schedule. You were done. And he didn’t see it coming. He thought you’d always understand. That you’d always be there, waiting for him, fitting yourself into the spaces he left open. But tonight, you’d finally said what he should’ve been seeing all along.

“I can’t be the only one making time for us.”

His throat tightens. Because you were right. And he was too late to fix it.

3:09 AM

Austin finally drags himself to bed. It feels wrong. The sheets are cold. The room is too quiet. He doesn’t hear you shifting beside him, doesn’t feel you stealing the covers, doesn’t hear the little sigh you always make when you roll over in your sleep. For the first time in years, he’s alone in this bed. And it’s the loneliest he’s ever felt.

His arm instinctively reaches toward your side, like muscle memory, like habit. But all he finds is empty space. His throat goes tight as he exhales, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the crushing weight of it all. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t sleep. Because this time, you’re not coming back in the morning.

Day One

You

You don’t turn your phone off, but you don’t answer it either. Not when the screen lights up with Austin’s name late at night, not when he texts you at 1:24 AM, and not when he tries again the next morning. You see them. You just can’t. You tell yourself you need time. Space. But the truth?

You don’t know if you want to hear his voice because you miss him, or because you’re waiting for him to say something different. Something that changes things. Something that proves he’s finally seen what you’ve been trying to show him for months. But deep down, you’re not sure he will. And that’s what hurts the most.

So you let the calls ring out. Let the messages sit unread. Let the silence stretch wider and heavier between you. It’s easier that way. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Day Three

Your sister asks about him at dinner. You smile, press your lips together, and say, He’s busy with work. The lie comes so easily, so naturally, because you’ve said it so many times before. She gives you a look but doesn’t push, just nods and changes the subject. You should feel relieved. You just feel tired.

Day Five

You wake up, reach for your phone out of habit, and catch yourself before you text him. The muscle memory is still there. The instinct to share your morning, to tell him some random thought, to ask how he slept. It’s so stupid, but it stings. You don’t text him. You roll over instead, staring at the ceiling, blinking hard against the ache sitting heavy in your chest. You don’t miss him. You won’t miss him. You just need more time.

Day Seven

Austin stops calling. You tell yourself that’s a good thing. That it means you’ve finally made your point. That he’s respecting your space. But then why does it feel like the walls around you are closing in instead of opening up? Why does it feel like the silence is suffocating instead of peaceful? Why does it feel like he’s giving up instead of fighting for you? And why, for the first time, does that make you want to cry? You don’t. You won’t. You just sit there, staring at the blank screen of your phone, hands curled into your sweatshirt sleeves, wondering if he’s finally stopped waiting for you to pick up. Wondering if he’s waiting at all.

Austin

Austin stares at his phone for a long time. Your name is still sitting at the top of his call log. The last message he sent—Where did you go?—still hasn’t been opened. He wants to text you again. Wants to call, show up at your door, do something, anything to fix this. But he doesn’t know how. Because what if he’s already done too much damage? What if this isn’t just you needing time? What if this is you realising you’re better off without him? The thought settles like lead in his chest. He sets the phone down, scrubs a hand over his face, and tells himself to give you space. But that’s the problem. There’s already too much space between you. And he’s never hated it more.

Day Ten

The thing about distance is that it doesn’t stay contained. It seeps into the cracks of everything else—work, conversations, the quiet moments when you think no one is watching. And people start to notice.

You

You didn’t want to come. You almost texted to cancel—twice. But your sister insisted, and you knew if you didn’t show, she’d just keep pushing, keep pressing, until you caved anyway. So here you are, sitting across from her in a small café, picking at the sandwich you barely have the stomach for. She watches you for a while, saying nothing, sipping her drink, waiting. Then, finally—

“Alright,” she says, setting her glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?”

Your stomach clenches. You force yourself to shrug like it’s nothing. “What do you mean?”

She gives you a look—the kind that older siblings specialize in. The kind that says I know you better than you think I do. “You didn’t talk about Austin once at dinner last week,” she points out. “And I let it go because I figured you didn’t want to make a big deal out of him missing it, but now?” She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes. “You’re different. You’re quiet. You’re here, but you’re not really here. And don’t even try to tell me it’s just stress.”

Your fingers tighten around the napkin in your lap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Your sister exhales, like she expected you to say that, but she’s not backing down. “Fine. But just answer one thing for me.”

You force yourself to meet her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

That’s what does it. Not the questions about Austin, not the prodding, not the expectations. Just those three simple words, spoken with so much concern, so much care, that your chest goes tight, your throat burning as you try to keep it together. You look away quickly, blink hard, shake your head. “I don’t know.”

Your sister reaches across the table, resting a hand on yours. “Hey,” she says softly. “Talk to me.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, try to take a deep breath, try to push it down before it cracks you open completely. And then, before you can stop yourself— “I left.” The words barely make it out. Quiet. Shaky. Almost like you don’t believe them yet.

Your sister’s brows furrow. “You what?”

“I left,” you repeat, voice thick now. “I walked out. Packed a bag. I—” You inhale sharply, digging your nails into your palm under the table. “I don’t even know if I’m going back.”

Her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything at first. Just squeezes your hand. And that makes it worse. Because if she yelled, if she told you that you were being dramatic, if she said you were overreacting, maybe you could fight it. Maybe you could push it down. But she doesn’t. She just looks at you like she sees all of it. Like she sees you. And that’s when your eyes burn, your throat tightens even more, and you have to bite your lip to keep it together.

“Shit,” you mumble, blinking quickly. “I don’t want to cry.”

Your sister exhales softly, gives your hand another squeeze. “Then don’t.” A small, knowing smile. “Just tell me what happened instead.”

Austin

“Cut!”

Austin barely hears it. He blinks, dragging himself back into the present as the director sighs and steps forward.

“Austin, man,” he says, rubbing his temple, “you okay? That’s the third time you’ve missed the cue.”

Austin shifts on his feet, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it. Sorry.”

His co-star gives him a pointed look. “Dude. This isn’t like you.”

And it’s not. Normally, he’s on it. Locked in. Focused. But not this week. Not since you left. Not since the house started feeling like a place he just exists in instead of somewhere he belongs.

His co-star nudges him. “You need a minute?”

Austin shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. “Nah. Let’s go again.”

Because what else is he supposed to do? Go home to an empty house? Sit in the silence? No. He needs to work. Needs to fill his time with something—because if he doesn’t, he’s going to start thinking about you again. And if he does that, he might just lose it.

Day Eleven

You

The hotel room is quiet. Too quiet. You weren’t expecting that. You booked it because you needed space—needed to be somewhere that wasn’t him, wasn’t your shared house, wasn’t full of things that reminded you of what you just walked away from. But now, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the unfamiliar beige walls, you feel like you’ve traded one kind of loneliness for another.

There’s no hum of his voice in the other room. No sound of him moving around, no half-muttered lines as he paces, practicing dialogue under his breath. No scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Just… silence. And for the first time, you wonder if you really thought this through. Not the fight. Not leaving. But this part. The part where you have to sit in it. You inhale sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. You shouldn’t miss him. You can’t. Not after everything.

But then, your phone buzzes. And there it is. His name. Your heart jumps—once, twice—before you force it down and remind yourself that this isn’t new. That he’s called before. That you haven’t answered. But this time, there’s no missed call notification. Just a message. A voice note. You stare at it for a long time. A full minute. Maybe more. Then, finally—hesitantly—you press play.

His voice fills the quiet.

“Hey.” A pause. A deep breath. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. And I get it. I do.”

You close your eyes at the sound of him. It’s too familiar, too much. It hits you in a way you weren’t ready for, makes the ache in your chest feel sharp and fresh instead of something you were starting to get used to.

“I, uh… I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I keep running through it in my head, trying to come up with the right words, but nothing feels good enough. Because I know I messed up. I know that. And I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say I’m sorry when I haven’t—when I haven’t done enough to prove it.”

You bite your lip, stomach twisting.

“I don’t know where your head’s at right now. I don’t know if you even want to hear me out. But I need you to know that I—I feel it, Y/N. The space. The weight of it. I don’t know if you meant for this to be permanent, but if you did… if you’re really done with me, I just—”

A beat of silence, then—he exhales, a rough, uneven sound.

“I need to hear you say it.”

Your chest tightens. Your breath catches. Because this is different. This isn’t a casual apology. This isn’t him assuming you’ll come back. This is him realising he might have already lost you. You stare at the screen for a long time after the voice note ends, your thumb hovering over the reply button. You should say something. Anything. But what if you don’t have the right words either? What if this moment—this silence—is the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely? You close your eyes. And for the first time in days, you don’t know what to do. Or worse—what if you do?

The hotel room is still too quiet. You lie on the bed, phone resting on your stomach, staring at the ceiling. The voice note ended ten minutes ago, but it still lingers in the air, hanging over you like a weight you can’t shake. Your thumb moves on its own, swiping back to the message. You hesitate—but only for a second. Then, you press play again.

“Hey.”

His voice fills the space again, soft, rough, unsure. You close your eyes.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me. And I get it. I do.”

Your chest tightens, fingers curling around the edge of the pillow. The words sink deeper this time. You listen all the way through, all the way to that final breath, that last plea—

“I need to hear you say it.”

The message ends. You exhale. And then— You play it again. Not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing grounding you. Because hearing him like this—uncertain, vulnerable, different—makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he really is starting to understand. Maybe. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You should say something. You should. You start to type—

Austin: I—

You stop. Your heart pounds. The words don’t feel right. What are you supposed to say? That you hear him? That you’re not sure if it’s enough? That you don’t even know what you’re waiting for anymore? Your jaw clenches as you delete the message. You put the phone down. Turn it over, face-down, so you won’t be tempted. Then you roll onto your side, tuck yourself into the too-stiff hotel sheets, and let the silence swallow you whole. But the message still plays in your head. Over and over. Even when you finally fall asleep.

Austin

Austin sits in the driver’s seat of his car, parked outside the studio, staring at his phone. The message is still marked as delivered. Not read. He exhales sharply, gripping the steering wheel. She’s listening. He knows she is. But she’s not responding. And that scares him more than if she’d told him to leave her alone. Because it means she’s still deciding. And he doesn’t know if he has any time left.

He could text again. He could call. But those things feel too easy. Too impersonal. Too much like all the times he called her late, distracted, with half his attention on something else. And he refuses to do this wrong again. Flowers are useless. jewellery, gifts—none of it matters. It has to be something real. Something that proves he’s not just saying things this time. Something that makes her see—really see—that he’s not just trying to fix the fight, he’s trying to fix himself.

His fingers drum against the steering wheel. And then, it hits him. It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about the small things. The things he should have noticed before. The things she thought he forgot. He throws the car into reverse and heads home, a plan already forming in his mind. If she won’t talk to him, if she won’t answer— Then he’ll show her. Because he finally knows what to do.

Day Twelve

You

You wake up with your phone in your hand. You don’t even remember picking it up. The screen is still dark, but you don’t have to check to know that you never responded. That you played the message again. And again. And again. You groan softly, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes before dragging yourself out of bed. The hotel room is still unfamiliar, still stiff, still not home. But you remind yourself that’s the point. You shower, get dressed, tell yourself that today will be different. And then— Your phone buzzes. Your stomach lurches. You know it’s him before you even look. But when you do, it’s not a call. Not a text. Just a photo. No caption. No explanation.

Just a picture of a book—your favourite book. The one you lent him months ago, the one you thought he forgot about. It’s open, worn at the edges, with a pen resting against the spine. And the page he’s marked? It’s the page with your favourite passage. The one you told him reminded you of him. Your breath catches. Because this isn’t an apology. It’s not an I miss you, or I’m sorry, or Please come back. It’s proof. Proof that he was listening, even when you thought he wasn’t. Proof that he didn’t forget everything. You stare at the picture for a long time, heart hammering, fingers twitching to type something. But what? What does this even mean? Before you can decide, your phone buzzes again. Another photo.

This time, it’s a coffee cup. Your coffee cup. The one he always made fun of because of how chipped it was, but you refused to throw it away. And next to it? A notebook. His notebook. The one he uses to scribble ideas, to jot things down between filming, to collect the little moments he never wants to forget. And this time, there’s a message beneath the photo.

Austin: I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I need you to know that I remember. I remember everything.

Your breath catches. Because this is different. This isn’t a grand apology. This isn’t him saying all the right words. This is him showing you. Him proving it. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You should say something. You almost do. But instead— You do the only thing you can. You close your eyes and let yourself feel it. Because for the first time in days, you’re not just thinking about what’s broken. You’re thinking about what’s still there. And you don’t know if that’s enough. But maybe—just maybe—it’s a start.

Austin

Austin sees it the moment it happens. The tiny “Read” notification under the voice note. The double checkmarks next to the photos. His heart jolts. It’s the first sign of life he’s gotten from you in twelve days. You saw them. You saw the book, the coffee cup, the notebook. You saw him trying.

But you didn’t respond. His stomach twists. It’s not rejection. Not exactly. But it’s not an answer either. And that’s almost worse. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face, staring at his phone like it holds some kind of answer. But it doesn’t. You’re still out there. Still silent. And he’s still losing you. Unless he does something more. Something real.

Austin paces his apartment, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t know if she’ll pick up. But after three rings—

“Why are you calling me?”

Your sister’s voice is not unkind, but not exactly warm either. Austin exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because I don’t know what else to do.”

A pause. Then, a sigh. “Austin…”

“I’m not asking you to fix this,” he says quickly. “I know I have to fix it myself. I just—” He swallows hard. “She read my messages. But she didn’t answer. And I don’t know if that means I should keep trying or if she wants me to stop.”

Your sister is quiet for a long time. Then—“She doesn’t know either.”

Austin’s chest tightens.

“She’s still figuring it out,” she continues. “She’s not just angry, Austin. She’s… hurt. And I don’t think she’s ready to talk yet.”

He nods, even though she can’t see him. He already knew that. He just needed to hear it out loud. A long breath. “She’s at work today, isn’t she?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I do.”

Another pause. Then—softer this time—“What are you trying to do here?”

Austin leans against the counter, gripping the edge. “I just want to give her something real. Something that’s not a text. Not a call. Just… something she can sit with. No pressure. No expectations.”

Your sister doesn’t answer immediately. Then—“If you think that’ll help, then do it. But, Austin?”

His jaw clenches. “Yeah?”

“If you’re just trying to make yourself feel better—don’t.”

The line clicks dead before he can respond. Austin exhales. And then— He grabs a pen and starts writing.

You

You’re halfway through the day when you see it. A plain white envelope sitting on your desk. No name. No label. Just waiting. You frown, glancing around, but no one seems to be paying attention. With hesitant fingers, you pick it up. Turn it over. There, scrawled in his familiar handwriting—

For when you’re ready.

Your breath catches. You swallow, pulse thrumming in your ears, fingers tightening around the paper. For when you’re ready. Not if. When. The weight of it sits heavy in your hands. Because you don’t know if you are. But you know you want to be. And maybe that’s enough. For now.

The envelope sits untouched on your desk. You haven’t opened it. Not because you don’t want to—because you do. You can feel the weight of it, heavier than it should be, as if whatever he wrote inside carries more than just words. It carries him. And right now, you’re not sure if you can handle that.

You glance around the office, fingers tapping against the envelope’s edge. The room is buzzing—keyboards clicking, quiet voices on calls, the occasional burst of laughter from a coworker’s desk.

You should be focusing. You should be working. But your mind is somewhere else. Your eyes drift to the shelf beside you, where a single copy of a familiar book sits. The book that started all of this.

The adaptation. The reason you met him in the first place. You remember those first few months—late-night meetings, frantic emails between agents and producers, the stress of making sure the story stayed intact while Hollywood shaped it into something new.

You remember when he started sitting in on meetings, not just as the lead actor, but as a producer. You remember how he would lean back in his chair, listening to every conversation, scribbling notes in the margins of the script. You remember thinking: He cares about this. And maybe that was the first time you really saw him. Now, you wonder if he still has that script. If he ever looks at the notes he made. If he even remembers what he wrote in the margins.

Your fingers tighten around the envelope. Austin remembers things when they matter. That’s what makes this so hard. Because for a long time, you weren’t sure if he did. You glance down at the handwriting on the front.

For when you’re ready.

Not please read this. Not I need you to understand. Just when. Like he knows you might not be there yet. Like he’s finally learning that this isn’t on his timeline anymore. You swallow, thumb brushing the flap of the envelope. You could open it now. You could get it over with. But instead—

You tuck it into your bag, right beside your notebook, and turn back to your work. Because right now, you need to be you. Not the girl waiting for an answer. Not the girl wondering what he wrote. Just you. And if that means waiting a little longer, then that’s what you’ll do. For now.

Austin

Austin sits in his car, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes flicking to his phone for the tenth time in the past five minutes. Nothing. No text. No call. No read receipt. And maybe that’s worse. Because at least if she ignored it—if he knew she threw it away—he’d have his answer. But now? Now, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know if she read it. Doesn’t know if she tucked it away in a drawer, or if it’s still sitting on her desk, unopened. Doesn’t know if she’s waiting for the right moment, or if there isn’t one at all. He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He’s done all he can. The rest is up to her. But waiting? Waiting feels like hell.

You

The envelope sits on the hotel nightstand. You’ve been ignoring it for hours. You told yourself you wouldn’t open it tonight. That you’d wait. That you’d at least give yourself another day, maybe two. But the longer it sits there, the more it feels like it’s staring at you. Like it knows you’ve already made up your mind.

You sigh, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes before finally reaching for it. Your fingers hesitate at the edge of the flap. You should wait, you tell yourself, fingers gripping the envelope. Just one more night. But deep down, you know that’s a lie. Because if you really wanted to wait— You wouldn’t still be holding it.

You tear it open. The handwriting is his—the same messy scrawl you’ve seen on script pages, on post-it notes left around the apartment, on birthday cards written at the last second but always signed with something that made you laugh. This time, it’s different. This time, it’s careful.

Y/N,

I don’t know if you’re ready to read this. I don’t even know if you ever will. But I need to say it anyway.

I know words aren’t enough. I know I’ve said “I’m sorry” before, and I know it probably doesn’t mean much when I haven’t done enough to show it. So this isn’t an apology. It’s a promise. A promise that I see it now. I see you.

I see the space I left for too long. The nights you waited. The conversations you never got because I was too distracted, too focused on everything else. The way you held us together when I should have been holding you, too.

I don’t know when it started—when I started expecting you to wait for me instead of meeting you halfway. When I started thinking “later” was enough, without realising that every “later” made you feel like less of a priority.

I never wanted that. And I know now that wanting isn’t enough. I don’t want you to come back just because I miss you. I want you to come back because you believe I won’t make you feel like this again.

I want to be better. For you. For us.

But only if you still want us, too. If you don’t, I’ll let you go. But if there’s even a chance—just a small one—then I’ll wait.

I’ll wait for when you’re ready.

Austin

Your breath catches. You read it again. And again. And again. The paper trembles slightly in your hands, but you’re not sure if it’s from the weight of the words or the weight of everything you’ve been holding in for days.

Because this is different. This isn’t a desperate plea. This isn’t him asking you to come back right now. This is him finally listening. Finally seeing you. You inhale sharply, pressing the letter to your chest, closing your eyes. You’re not ready to respond. Not yet. But for the first time since you walked away— You think maybe, just maybe, you could be.

Day Fourteen

You

You don’t throw it away. You don’t leave it behind on the nightstand, don’t tuck it away in a drawer to forget about it. Instead, you carry it with you. It stays folded in your bag, buried beneath your notebook and keys, its presence subtle but impossible to ignore. You tell yourself you won’t read it again. But every night, when the hotel room is too quiet, when the weight of the silence feels heavier than it should—you do. You unfold the paper, smooth out the creases, and let your eyes trace over the same words, over and over again.

I see you.

I don’t know when I started expecting you to wait for me instead of meeting you halfway.

I’ll wait for when you’re ready.

You don’t know why you keep reading it. Maybe you’re looking for something you missed the first time. Maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean as much as it does. Or maybe—just maybe—you’re not ready to let it go yet. And that? That scares you more than anything.

It’s been two days. Austin hasn’t sent anything else. No texts, no voice notes, no calls. And you should feel relieved. You should feel like this space is yours now, that he’s finally respecting the silence you needed. But instead—you just feel the weight of it.

You stare at your phone for what feels like forever. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitating. There’s so much you could say. You could tell him you’ve read the letter a hundred times. You could tell him you still don’t know what you want. You could tell him you miss him. You could tell him you don’t. But instead— You type two words.

I read it.

And then you hit send. No explanation. No decision. Just an acknowledgment. Because that’s all you have to give right now. And for the first time in days, you finally exhale.

Austin

Austin is half-asleep on the couch when his phone buzzes. He almost doesn’t check it. Almost lets it sit there, unread, like every other silence-filled moment of the past two weeks. But then— His breath catches. Your name. Your message.

I read it.

That’s it. Nothing else. His grip tightens around the phone, his heart hammering harder than it should. Because it’s not an answer. It’s not a promise. But it’s not goodbye either. And right now, that’s enough.

The House

You

You check the time before stepping out of the car. He’s not home. You made sure of it. The key feels heavy in your hand as you slide it into the lock, the metal clicking softly in the quiet. The door creaks open. And just like that—you’re back.

The air inside feels too still. Like the house has been waiting, holding its breath. Your breath is shaky as you step inside. The kitchen light is off. The living room looks exactly the same. It smells the same. Your chest tightens. You don’t know why you came. For your things? Maybe. To see what it felt like being here? Probably.

You take slow steps through the space, feeling the absence of him in every corner. Your coffee mug is still on the counter. A book you left on the couch weeks ago is exactly where you last put it. One of his jackets is draped over the chair, like he hasn’t moved it since you left. Like he doesn’t want to. Your fingers ghost over the fabric, your throat tightening. This house still holds you. Still remembers you. But do you still belong here? You don’t have an answer. Not yet. You swallow, shake yourself out of it, and head to the bedroom. Because this isn’t about him. This is about you. And right now, you just need to breathe.

The bedroom feels even heavier than the rest of the house. Your side of the bed is still untouched. Drawers still half-filled with your things. You hesitate before stepping further inside. This was supposed to be easy. Get what you need, leave. But now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel easy at all. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you move toward the dresser, pulling open the drawers. A sweater. A few shirts. The book you kept on the nightstand. Nothing that matters too much. Nothing that would make this feel permanent.

Your hands still as you pick up a small piece of paper tucked under a bracelet you left behind. It’s a post-it note. His handwriting—messy, scrawled in a rush.

You were right. I should’ve come to bed.

Your breath catches. It’s from a night months ago, when you’d fallen asleep alone after waiting up for him. You don’t realise how tight your grip on it is until you hear the unmistakable jingle of keys in the front door. Your stomach plummets. Austin. He’s home.

No, no, no—he’s not supposed to be home. You planned this, timed this, made sure there was no way you’d run into him. You’re not ready. Your pulse kicks into overdrive, heart slamming against your ribs as you move on instinct, backing toward the closet like you can somehow disappear into it. Maybe he’ll go straight to the kitchen. Maybe he won’t even come in here. Except—

You hear it. That moment of hesitation. The way the front door doesn’t close right away. Like he knows. Like he can feel it. Like something in the air tells him that he’s not alone.

Footsteps. Slow. Careful. Getting closer.

Your breath is caught in your throat as you grip the strap of your bag, backing toward the other door—the one that leads to the bathroom, to the hallway, to a possible escape. You could slip out before he even makes it in here. You could still get away. And then—

The bedroom door swings open. Austin stops dead in his tracks. The silence between you is instant, deafening. His keys are still in his hand. His breath stills, his whole body going rigid at the sight of you, like he thinks if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish.

Your chest is tight. Too tight. This was never supposed to happen like this.

His gaze drags over you, landing on the bag slung over your shoulder, the sweater in your arms. His throat works as he swallows, trying to catch up to the reality of you standing here. Here, in this space, in his space.

“…You came back.”

It’s barely a whisper. Barely a breath. Not an assumption. Not an accusation. Just—shock. You don’t know what to say. Because you don’t know if you came back. You just came.

Your grip tightens on the strap of your bag, and that tiny movement—that small, almost imperceptible shift—is what makes Austin blink, like the spell has broken, like he’s realising what’s actually happening.

That you’re leaving. Again. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t block your path. Doesn’t try to reach for you.

“…I didn’t think I’d see you.” His voice is hoarse, quieter than you expected. “Not yet.”

You lick your lips, shifting slightly. You should say something. Anything. Make this less awkward, less painful. But your chest is too tight, your throat too full of everything you’re still not sure of.

So you just nod.

Austin watches you for a long moment. Too long. His eyes flick to your bag again, like he’s trying to memorize every last thing you’re taking with you. Like he thinks it matters. Like he doesn’t realise that what you’re leaving behind is heavier.

Your throat tightens. You should go. You should walk past him, step through that door, and let this moment stay exactly what it is—brief. Necessary. Over. But your feet don’t move. Not yet.

Austin exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s afraid anything too sudden might shatter whatever fragile thing exists between you right now. His fingers twitch at his side, but he doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t try to stop you. But his eyes—they hold you still. The same way they did the night you walked away. Only now, there’s no frustration, no sharp edge of disbelief. Only quiet knowing. Like he finally understands. Like he finally sees you.

You blink fast, swallowing against the burn in your throat. This is already too much. Too much history in a single breath, too much of him in the walls, in the air, in the way your body still knows this space like it’s home. You shift your grip on the bag, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. Say something. You don’t even know what, but the thought of walking out without a word—without acknowledging that this moment is nothing like the last—feels unbearable. So, you exhale slowly and say, “I don’t know how to do this.”

Austin’s jaw clenches, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t rush to fill the silence. Just listens. Neither of you moves. Neither of you breathes. Then, quietly—like it’s the most honest thing he’s ever said—Austin murmurs, “Me either.”

Your chest tightens. Because that’s the truth, isn’t it? Neither of you knows what comes next. But for the first time, you’re both willing to find out.

The air shifts, thick with hesitation, with unspoken things, with the fragile hope that maybe this doesn’t have to be as impossible as it feels. Austin swallows hard, glancing down at the bag in your hand. Then, softly—so softly you almost miss it—he says, “You don’t have to go.”

You inhale sharply. He doesn’t say Stay. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t beg. Just lets you decide. Your fingers tighten around the strap, heart hammering. This is it. This is the moment.

You meet his gaze, searching, trying to figure out if you’re ready. And maybe you’re not. Maybe you still need time. Maybe you still need space. But you’re tired of running.

So instead of walking past him, instead of brushing past him like a ghost in the place you used to share, you shift your weight from one foot to the other and say, quietly— “Do you have time to talk?”

Austin exhales sharply, like he wasn’t expecting it. His hand flexes at his side, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you, but his answer is immediate. “Yeah. Of course.”

The words are hoarse, barely above a whisper, but they hold everything.

You nod slowly, licking your lips. The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy with everything unsaid, with everything that’s been simmering in the spaces between you for weeks. Then, softer—“Now?”

Austin swallows, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if you really mean it. If this is really happening. “…Yeah,” he says again. “Now.”

You shift your grip on the bag, feeling its weight in your hands. You could still leave. You could still walk out the door, keep the distance between you, let this be another almost. But you’re here. And so is he. And for the first time, neither of you is running.

So, slowly, carefully—you let the strap slide from your shoulder, let the bag drop to the floor with a soft thud.

Austin’s gaze flickers to it, then back to you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t push. Just waits.

You inhale deeply, wrapping your arms around yourself, grounding yourself in this moment. “I don’t know where to start,” you admit, voice quiet, uncertain.

Austin nods, like he understands that. Like he’s been waiting for this conversation, but he’s just as unsure of how to navigate it as you are. Then, carefully—“Start anywhere.”

The room is too still. The weight of this is too much. But you’re here. And so is he. And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.

Austin

He barely breathes as he watches the bag slip from your shoulder, hitting the floor with a quiet thud. You’re not walking out. Not yet. His pulse pounds in his ears as he forces himself not to move, not to reach for you—not to ruin this.

“I don’t know where to start,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Austin exhales slowly. He doesn’t push, doesn’t rush. “Start anywhere.”

For a moment, it feels like you might take it back. Like the weight of the moment is too much, like it might swallow you whole before you get the words out. Then—finally—you step past him, sinking down onto the edge of the bed.

Austin follows carefully, sitting a few feet away, hands clasped between his knees. The space between you isn’t as wide as it was two weeks ago. But it’s still not where it used to be. And that��s on him.

You don’t speak at first. Just stare at your hands, breathing slowly, deliberately. Austin keeps his eyes on you, waiting, letting you decide how this goes. Then, finally—your voice is quiet, but it doesn’t waver. “Did you really not see it before?”

Austin’s chest tightens. He knew that was coming. And he doesn’t have a good answer. So he tells you the truth. “I think I did.” His throat works. “I just… I told myself it wasn’t that bad.”

Your eyes flick up to his, sharp. “That bad?”

“No—” he exhales, shaking his head. “I mean—God, I don’t know. I thought you were okay. I thought… I thought we’d be fine.”

You let out a breathless, humourless laugh.

“Austin, I told you.” Your voice shakes slightly, but it’s frustration, not uncertainty. “I told you so many times.”

“I know.” His hands press together, fingers tightening against his palms. “I know you did.”

Silence stretches. Then—softer now. “So why didn’t you listen?”

Austin closes his eyes for a second. Because I didn’t want to believe I was failing you. Because I kept telling myself I had time. Because I didn’t realise I was running out of it until you were gone. But none of that is enough. So he looks at you—really looks at you—and finally says the one thing he should have said weeks ago. “Because I was selfish.”

Your breath catches.

Austin keeps going before you can stop him. “Because I let myself believe that as long as you were still here, everything was okay.” His voice is rough now, raw. “Because I was too caught up in everything else to see what it was doing to you. Because I thought—” He swallows hard, shakes his head. “I thought you wouldn’t leave.”

You don’t say anything. And that’s worse. Because now you’re really looking at him. Now you’re seeing the full weight of what he’s saying, what he’s admitting to. And it hurts. For both of you.

The silence is thick, heavy, pressing in around him like it might crush him completely. Then, finally—soft, hesitant— “I didn’t want to.”

Austin’s breath catches. You don’t look at him when you say it, eyes still locked on your hands, fingers twisting together in your lap.

“I didn’t want to leave.” You exhale shakily. “But I didn’t know what else to do.”

Austin’s chest aches. Physically aches. Because he gets it now. Really, truly gets it. You left because you had to. Because he left you no other choice. And fuck. That’s on him.

The air is too thick, too fragile, too much. Carefully, cautiously, he shifts closer. Not enough to crowd you, not enough to push. Just enough. His hands twitch against his thighs, but he doesn’t reach for you. Not yet.

“I know.” His voice is quiet. “And I’m so sorry I ever made you feel like you had to.”

Your shoulders drop slightly, just barely. Like maybe you believe him. Like maybe—just maybe—this is the start of something new. Something better.

Austin exhales slowly. Then—soft, careful, giving you the space to decide— “Can we try to figure this out?”

The silence between you stretches, long and uncertain. Austin’s hands flex against his thighs, his heart hammering as he waits for something. For a word. A nod. A sigh. For any sign that you’re not walking away again. But he doesn’t say anything else. He’s too busy seeing you. Really seeing you. And it guts him.

You look tired. Not just physically—though that’s there, too. Your frame looks a little smaller, like you haven’t been eating properly. There are faint shadows under your eyes, proof that sleep hasn’t come easy. But it’s more than that. It’s in the way you carry yourself—shoulders tense, fingers curled slightly into your sweater, like you’re holding something in. Like you’re holding yourself together. And the worst part?

He did this to you. He made you feel like you had to leave. Like he wasn’t paying enough attention. And now that he is—now that he finally sees the weight of it? It’s unbearable.

His chest tightens as you shift slightly, fingers twisting together in your lap, like you’re still trying to decide if this conversation is worth having.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” Your voice is soft, but steady. “I don’t know if we can.”

Austin exhales slowly, nodding. “Then let’s not think about fixing it.” His throat works as he swallows. “Let’s just talk.”

Your lips press together. You nod, but there’s still hesitation in your eyes, like you don’t trust that this won’t fall apart again. And Austin can’t blame you. He let you down. So he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t push. He just leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you need to hear from me?”

You inhale sharply, like you weren’t expecting that. Like you weren’t expecting him to ask. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. “I don’t know.”

But you do. Austin sees it in the way your shoulders tense. Sees it in the way your mouth parts slightly, like you almost said something but held back. So he waits. Because this time? He’s listening.

You let out a slow breath. “I need to know that it’s not always going to be like this.”

Austin nods, absorbing the weight of that. Because it’s not just about this fight. It’s not just about one missed dinner. It’s about all of it. The late nights. The cancelled plans. The empty promises. The slow, painful erosion of what you used to be. His chest aches.

“It won’t be.” His voice is firm, no hesitation. “I know I can’t just say that and expect you to believe me, but—” He exhales. “I don’t want to be the person who makes you feel like this.”

Your eyes flick up to his. Finally. And something in them shifts. It’s not forgiveness. Not yet. But it’s something. Austin holds onto it.

“I let everything else take up so much space that I didn’t leave enough for you.” He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “And I hate that. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t—” His voice catches. He swallows hard. “Like you weren’t the most important thing to me.”

You flinch, just barely. Like that’s the part that really hit.

Austin runs a hand through his hair. “Because you are. You always have been.”

Your throat works as you swallow, blinking fast, like you’re trying to hold something back. And fuck. That hurts. Because he did this. He made you feel like you had to fight for space in his life.

Austin lets out a shaky breath. “I know I have to prove that to you. I know words aren’t enough.”

Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak.

So he does. “But I want to.” His voice is rough, full of something raw and real. “I want to prove it. I just need to know if I still have the chance to.”

Silence.

Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. You look away, blinking hard, your jaw clenching like you’re fighting something back. And then—so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it—

“I don’t know.”

Austin’s chest tightens. He nods slowly, absorbing it. Because that’s not a no. It’s not over. It’s just… unknown. And that? That’s more than he deserves. He won’t push you for more. Not yet.

So instead, he leans back slightly, letting the tension settle, and then—softly, carefully— “Do you want to stay?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes flicking up to his, wide and uncertain.

He doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He waits.

You stare at him for a long moment, breathing slow and deep, like you’re testing the weight of the question. Then, finally—you shake your head.

Austin’s fingers twitch at his sides like he’s about to reach forward, about to do something—but then he stops himself. Instead of rushing, instead of trying to take control, he lets the moment be yours. His hands flex, then fall still.

“Okay.” His voice is steady, but the tightness in his throat is impossible to ignore. Because this? This is the part where you leave again. But then—

You shift. And before he can react—you stand. Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, but you don’t move to leave right away. You hesitate.

Austin watches, heart pounding, as you stare at the floor for a long second, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something. And then— You look at him. Really look at him.

And fuck, whatever you see there—whatever’s written all over his face, in his eyes—it makes yours shine too. You sniff once, barely, shaking your head at yourself, at this, at all of it. Then—as you step past him—

Your fingers brush against his hand. A whisper of contact. Soft. Fleeting. But deliberate. But fuck. It wrecks him. Because it means something.

You move past him slowly, not rushing, not running. And right before you reach the door, you murmur—so quiet it almost disappears into the air between you—

“I’ll think about it.”

Austin exhales sharply, his hands flexing at his sides. He closes his eyes. Okay. Okay. Because that’s not a no. And for now? For now, that’s enough.

You

The drive back to the hotel feels different this time. Not lighter, exactly—but less impossible. You still don’t have answers. You still don’t know what comes next. But for the first time, the uncertainty doesn’t feel like something you need to run from.

You pull into the parking lot, turn off the engine, and just sit there. The weight of the evening lingers in your chest, in your hands, in the faint echo of Austin’s voice still looping in your mind.

"I don’t want to be the person who makes you feel like this."

"I want to prove it. I just need to know if I still have the chance to."

You believe that he meant it. And maybe—just maybe—you want to give him the chance to prove it. Your fingers hover over your phone screen, hesitating. So many things you could say. So many things you want to say. But in the end, you keep it simple.

You: Thank you for listening tonight.

Your heart pounds. Then—after a beat—another message.

You: I meant what I said. I’m thinking about it.

You press send. And instead of second-guessing it, instead of holding your breath, you put the phone down and let yourself breathe.

Austin

Austin’s phone buzzes from where it sits on the coffee table. For a second, he doesn’t move. He’s been sitting here, staring at nothing, trying to process everything. The way you looked at him. The way your fingers brushed against his. The way you stayed—even if only for a little while. He doesn’t let himself hope. Not really. Because hope is dangerous. Hope is what made him blind when you were slipping away. But then—his phone screen lights up.

Your name. His stomach twists as he picks it up, thumbs shaky as he unlocks the screen.

You: Thank you for listening tonight.

Austin exhales sharply. And then—another message.

You: I meant what I said. I’m thinking about it.

Something settles deep in his chest. Not relief. Not yet. But something real. He doesn’t rush to reply. Doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. Doesn’t want to make you feel like this is another weight pressing down on you. So he types only what he means.

Austin: Take your time.

Austin: I meant what I said, too.

He hits send and leans back, running a hand over his face. The silence in the apartment still lingers. But it doesn’t feel as suffocating as it did before. Because for the first time in weeks—he knows you’re still there. And that means everything.

You

You wake up the next morning without hesitation sitting on your chest. It’s not clarity exactly. You’re not suddenly sure of everything. But something feels… lighter. You glance at your phone—the texts are still there. Austin’s words, waiting.

Austin: Take your time.

Austin: I meant what I said, too.

You read them again. Not overthinking, not analysing—just letting them be. And then—without letting yourself second-guess it— You type out your next message.

You: Do you have time to see me tomorrow?

You hesitate for just a second— Then hit send.

Austin

Austin almost doesn’t check his phone. He’s been forcing himself not to wait. Not to obsess over whether you’ll respond. But when he picks it up and sees your name? His breath catches. Your message is short. Simple.

You: Do you have time to see me tomorrow?

Austin lets out a shaky breath. This is it. Not a fix. Not a resolution. But a choice. You want to see him. He types fast, hands a little too unsteady.

Austin: Yeah. Anytime. Just tell me when and where.

He stares at the screen, waiting, pulse pounding. Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then—

You: I’ll come over after work.

His chest tightens. Not with nerves, not with fear—just with something that feels a little like hope. He grips his phone a little tighter. Then—his final reply.

Austin: I’ll be here.

You

Austin is already at the door when you step onto the porch. He must’ve seen your car pull up. For a second, he just looks at you. Like he’s bracing himself. Like he doesn’t want to scare you off. You exhale slowly. "Hi."

Austin nods. "Hey."

Neither of you moves at first. Yesterday had been an accident—timing you hadn’t planned for. But this? This is a choice. You shift on your feet. "Can I come in?"

His throat bobs. "Yeah, of course."

He steps aside, letting you pass, and the second you do—it’s different. There’s no rushing this time. No pressure. Just the weight of everything still sitting between you.

Austin gestures toward the couch. "Do you wanna sit?"

You hesitate, then nod. "Yeah."

It feels weird at first. Sitting together again. But it also feels necessary. The silence lingers as you both settle in. Austin leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. You tuck your legs up, pulling your sleeves over your hands. Not avoiding. Just gathering yourself. Then—finally—you clear your throat.

"I meant what I said," you murmur.

Austin turns slightly. "Which part?"

You take a slow breath. "That I don’t know how to do this."

Austin nods slowly, like he understands. "We don’t have to know. We just have to try."

Your throat tightens. That’s all he’s asking for. For you to try.

Your fingers tighten in your sleeves. "You say that now. But what about later? When things get busy again? When work takes over? When things start to pile up?" You swallow hard. "What if this happens all over again?"

Austin exhales, running a hand through his hair. "It won’t."

"Austin—"

"Because I know what it feels like to lose you now.” His voice is quiet, but certain. “And I won’t let that happen again.”

You blink fast, heart hammering. Austin watches you carefully, not moving, not pushing. You notice the signs of exhaustion in his face.

"You look tired," he murmurs. "Thinner." His jaw tightens. "Like you haven’t been eating properly."

Your chest aches. Because he’s right. "I could say the same about you," you whisper.

Austin huffs out something that isn’t quite a laugh. Just a broken sound in the space between you. "I don’t want to do this without you," he admits. "Any of it. The good, the bad—I don’t want to go through any of it without you, Y/N."

Your chest tightens. Your fingers curl into your sleeves. It would be so easy to just say yes. To fall back into him. But you need to be sure. You need to hear him say it.

“And when things get hard?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “When work is all-consuming, when you’re exhausted, when you’re stretched thin—how do I know I won’t become the thing that gets pushed aside again?”

Austin leans in slightly, eyes locked on yours. "You won’t."

The certainty in his voice shakes something loose in your chest. A deep breath shudders out of you. Because you believe him. But do you trust him?

Austin must see the hesitation flicker across your face, because then—softly, cautiously—he asks the question that changes everything.

“Come home.”

Your breath catches. Your heart stumbles. His expression is open, raw, unguarded. He’s giving you the choice. But the thing is… You already made it. Your fingers tighten at your sides, lips parting as you finally let yourself feel it. The relief. The love. The truth.

Austin must see the flicker of something in your expression, because he asks carefully—"Do you have your stuff in the car?"

A pause. Then, finally— You nod.

Austin exhales, blinking fast like he wasn’t expecting that. He nods once. "Then stay."

The words settle into the space between you. Your pulse kicks up. Because this? This isn’t running. This is choosing. Choosing to stay. Choosing to try. You let out a breath.

Maybe things wouldn’t be perfect right away. Maybe they’d have to work at this every single day. But wasn’t that what love was? And wasn’t he worth it? You take a breath. Then—so softly it’s almost a whisper— "Okay."

Austin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again—there’s something lighter there. Something hopeful. Something real. And this time, when you stand—it’s not to leave.

Three Months Later

You

The morning light filters softly through the bedroom curtains, casting a golden hue across the sheets. Your sheets. Because this is home again.

Austin stirs beside you, still deep in sleep, his arm draped loosely across your waist. He’s always been a heavy sleeper, but these days, he sleeps better. He told you that last week—muttered it against your skin after pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

"I sleep better with you here."

And you believe him.

You carefully slip out from under his arm, padding into the kitchen, the familiar morning routine settling into place. Coffee brewing. Toast popping up. The quiet hum of the city outside. It’s different than it was before—you both are—but in the best way.

There are small changes, subtle shifts in the way you and Austin navigate each other now.

Like the sticky notes on the fridge—reminders he leaves just for you. "Pick up more oat milk?" and "Don’t forget your lunch!" and "You looked really pretty this morning. Just saying."

Like the way he calls in the afternoons now, even if it’s just to say hi.

Like the way he asks, "Do you need me to slow down?" instead of assuming you’ll always be there waiting.

And the thing is—you don’t need him to slow down. Because now, he makes space for you. For both of you.

You settle onto the couch with your coffee, scrolling absently through an email about an upcoming adaptation pitch. Work had been hard for a while—your mind too tangled with everything that happened. But now, you’re finding your rhythm again.

A rustling from the bedroom, then the soft shuffle of bare feet on the floor. Austin appears in the doorway, sleep-rumpled—a sight that still makes your chest tighten in the best way.

“You left me,” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes.

You smirk over your coffee. “You were snoring.”

Austin groans, flopping onto the couch beside you, his head dropping into your lap. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. Loudly.”

His lips curve against your thigh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You roll your eyes, fingers instinctively threading through his hair. He leans into the touch like he always does, his hand resting lazily on your knee, fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin. For a moment, you just sit there in the quiet, his breathing even, your hand in his hair, your heart full.

Then—softly, sleepily—he murmurs, “You’re happy?”

Your fingers still for a second. And then you smile. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I am.”

Austin exhales, his fingertips grazing slow circles against your knee. “Good,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

And with that, he closes his eyes again. And you? You just sit there, watching him, knowing that this time—this love—is here to stay.

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[eomayas]

crawling back to you • ljh

pairing: producer!woozi x f!reader, exes2l

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! angst & fluff

synopsis: reader sees her ex boyfriend for the first time after avoiding him for months, and they realize just how much they miss each other

warnings: p in v, fingering, unprotected s*x (reader takes BC), praise, dirty talk, groveling, drinking, they’re at a club

a/n: eeeek sorry i’ve been MIA! i hope u like this. unedited. excuse any plot inconsistencies i started this weeks ago. will be finishing up reqs soon!!

music blares through the club speakers and bodies fill up what feels like every square inch of space available. your drink sloshes in your cup when a club-goer collides with your shoulder, a drunken “sorry” thrown your way as they stagger off. luckily, nothing spills on you and you got an apology.

walking up the stairs to the section your friends got, doubt and anxiety creep around the corners of your brain, the cage of butterflies in your stomach ready to be released. here’s the thing: your ex is up in this section, here because this night is partially about him and partially because your friends guilt tripped him into coming. otherwise, you know he wouldn’t be here. you also wouldn’t be here, if not for being tired of skipping out of fun activities just to avoid him. it’s tiring making up excuses as to why you can’t go to something whenever you catch wind of him being invited as well.

that’s really the problem with your breakup; you shared a group of friends. they all vowed to not get involved, staying true to their word on being impartial, though sometimes you wish they’d show favoritism and not invite him to things, just for your sake.

tonight, you’re here because you’re tired of being tired, tired of being afraid of running into him. you even stopped frequenting the places you used to go together because of the mere threat of possibly running into him. you’re tired of it.

also, you came because you knew he’d be here. not that that matters, or anything.

stepping into the section, you take a sip of your drink to calm yourself, before you’re spotted by soonyoung who waves at you enthusiastically. “y/n! you came!” he cries, jumping up from the couch and nearly tackling you in a hug. he hugs you around the shoulders and squeezes you tightly, and you can smell the alcohol wafting from his breath. “i’m so happy you’re here!” he slurs, and you wonder how many drinks he’s had.

when he releases you, you can’t help but return the toothy smile he gives you. “me too,” you say, though you’re not really sure yet. placing a hand on his cheek, you gently pat him. “youre drunk.” you declare, giggling when he smiles proudly.

out of all of the friends you shared with jihoon, you got the closest to soonyoung. probably because he was always around, but his personality is infectious and he’s just overall a good time. it sucked when you and jihoon broke up because you saw less of him until he reached out a few weeks after to reassure you that he wasn’t ‘picking sides’, but was trying to be there for his friend. you understood, but you needed a friend too.

you and soonyoung release each other, and he grabs your hand and begins to drag you over to where he’s sitting. knowing how close him and jihoon are, you relent and try to pull yourself back. “no, hosh, i don’t think it’s a good idea,” you start to panic, eyes frantically scanning the section for any sign of him.

“nooo, he’s not even sitting with me!” he pouts, rolling his eyes. you furrow your eyebrows at him, and he sighs, gnawing on his lip like you’re goin to hate what he’s about to say. clearing his throat, he says, “he’s made a friend.”

you ignore the pang in your chest and swallow down the lump in your throat. everything in you stops you from whipping your head around in search of him and this new found friend of his. shrugging your shoulders, you attempt to act nonchalant and like you don’t care, but soonyoung sees right through your facade. “good for him,” you say, but it comes out like fuck you.

“let’s drink.”

tipsy, not drunk. that’s your goal for tonight, and you’re dangerously on the verge of approaching drunk, the shot glass in front of you tempting. jeonghan raises his eyebrows at you from across the table, his shot glass hovering in the air. you eye the cup full of liquor, stomach roiling at the thought of taking even a sip. with resignation, you shake your head at last and lean back against the couch, a collective groan and pleading coming from your friends.

“cmonnnnnnn!” they say in unison, making you cover your face and shrink against the cushion.

“this is peer pressure, you know,” you say, pulling your hands from your face and looking at the shot glass. it’s practically calling your name (or maybe it’s seungcheol complaining at you), waiting for you to drink it. “nah, guys, i’m tapping out.” you declare.

“i’ll drink it,” wonwoo says, reaching across the table and grabbing your shot. he clinks both of the drinks in his hands against everybody else’s before downing one after the other. you watch in astonishment, feeling slightly nauseous for him, and a drink is placed in front of you on the table.

“water,” soonyoung says before you can question him, and sets a few more glasses down. somehow, despite his drunken state earlier, he’s managed to sober up as you drank more and more, despite it being his idea to keep on drinking.

you thank him and immediately grab the glass and begin chugging, not realizing how dehydrated you are.

“can i cut in?” you freeze, nearly choking on your water, and pray to the heavens that that voice doesn’t belong to who you are 101% sure it belongs to. you’ll never not know that voice, never not hear it ringing through your head when you watch a tv show you both liked or walk by your favorite restaurants. all the blood in your body rushes to your face, cheeks and neck burning red.

sliding your eyes from the table in front of you and up to the voice, it’s like your brain is wiped of every thought in your head and your senses are working over time. suddenly the music feels too loud, and the lights too bright, and your dress too tight. jihoon is looking down at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously—a habit he’d never been able to shake.

you realize much too late that he’s waiting for an answer from you, being under his gaze after so long of even seeing him making your brain work extra hard to process anything. jihoon stands above you, looking sexier than ever in all black with hair pulled back, a few loose strands framing his face. you nod choppily, hands clutching your water glass so hard that it might break from the pressure.

everyone at the table magically disappears after that, soonyoung vanishing from your side the moment you tipped your chin up. the only sign of anyone else having been sat around you are the empty glasses littered across the table.

jihoon takes a seat next to you on the couch, not so subtly wiping his palms on his pants. “are you gonna throw that at me?” he says as a greeting, nodding down at the glass in your hands.

at that, your grip loosens and you set the drink on the table, wiping the condensation from the glass on your dress. “no,” you reply, meeting his eyes. jihoons face softens when you look at him, and you wish you didn’t notice it because you feel your heart break in your chest.

“hi,” he says.

“hi.”

there’s a gap of space between the two of you, wide enough for another person to sit. you want to scoot closer and simultaneously scoot away from him, but stay planted where you’re at. “how’ve you been? it’s good to see you, y/n,” his voice is sincere, and it makes you feel confused, and like you miss him. because you do—it’s why you’re here.

you nod, nervously sliding your hands underneath your legs. “good. it’s nice to see you too,” you reply, and you wonder if this is how the night is going to go; you agreeing with and repeating whatever he says. “how are you?”

jihoon mirrors your anxious over-nodding. “good! just been working.”

“sounds like you,” you offer, earning a smile from him that shoots straight to your chest, followed by a ripple of sadness. work. the one thing you couldn’t compete with, so you never tried. and because you never tried, you were always second. second to the music, second to the studio, second to everything you let him put above you.

sensing your discomfort at the mention of the thing that drove a wedge between the two of you, jihoon scrambles to change the subject. work is his fault, but music is something he could never give up. music is his passion, it’s his calling and his purpose in this life. he blames the hours, not the thing. “i’ve been meaning to call you, but i was trying to give you space,” he says.

you nearly scoff in his face because if anything, space was the last thing you needed or wanted from him. you wanted time, but certainly not space. he gave you enough of that while you were together. space is what you got when you allowed yourself to be second. you can only hum at his words, a proper response lost on you.

“i miss you.”

those three words echo through your skull and bounce around the corners before they land squarely in the front. i miss you. somebody had to say it first.

“you don’t show it,” you murmur, looking down at the floor. you’re acutely aware of how much space is between you when the gap lessens, his thighs centimeters from your own in an instant.

“hm? i couldn’t hear you,” his mouth is very near your ear, leaving you no space if you were to turn your head to look at him. you go to lean back against the couch to put some distance between the two of you, but collide with his arm that is strewn over the back of it.

a surge of nerves runs through your body. finding a new sense of boldness, you scoot away from him and turn towards him, looking him square in the eye. “i said, you don’t show it,” jihoon blinks at you, mulling over your words.

“i don’t show it?” he asks, leaning in. you shake your head, your eyes never leaving his. jihoon brings a hand up to rub his bottom lip. those lips. your eyes drag down to rest upon the soft, pink lips that adorn his face. you fight the urge to trace his bottom lip with your thumb, grateful for the darkness of the club because your face is on fire. “well, it’s true though. i miss you.”

in place of a response, you pick up your water glass and chug the rest. you can feel him watching you, his eyes burning right through you. it’s bad enough that you’ve been craving his presence ever since you called things off with him, but having him this close so soon wasn’t exactly as easy as you dreamed it to be. you’re hot under his gaze, and the water is doing nothing to cool you down.

“you don’t act like it. you didn’t even call,” and maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or you’re simply feeling extra bold but you can’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

jihoon works his jaw and pushes a few strands of hair out of his face. “i didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

“i’ll always want to hear from you.”

at your admission, jihoon leans back against the couch cushion, teeth running over his bottom lip. your gaze lingers on his lips for a brief moment, long enough for jihoon to catch. he shifts against the couch, and you let your thoughts get the best of you and rake your eyes over his figure, shamelessly eyeing his lap. his legs are outstretched in front of him, slightly bent at the knee and fallen open wide.

it’s been months since you’ve had sex, jihoon being your last. you’ve managed to take care of yourself, though you miss feeling full. jihoon watches you drink him in, hand curling around the back of the couch. “are you seeing anyone?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. you shake your head, looking at him pointedly. you don’t have the strength to ask him back, brain taking you back to what soonyoung said earlier. a friend. clearly, there’s something there.

he’s watching you again, and this time you don’t have anything to preoccupy yourself with under his gaze. “congratulations, by the way,” you blurt embarrassingly, trying to find something else to talk about. jihoon blinks a few times, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re congratulating him for anything. “on your music. tonight is for you, isn’t it?”

“oh. thanks. and no, it’s not for me. they just needed an excuse to go out,” he says, brushing the stray strand of hair out of his eyes. you follow the movement and let out a small sigh, hands holding onto your knees.

jihoon leans forward and rests his elbows atop his knees. his face is close to yours, mere inches away. if you leaned in towards him, your lips would brush, and you hate how aware of it you are. you should hate him, shouldn’t want to see him, and certainly shouldn’t be imagining kissing him right now. you left him. but he marked the end of your relationship.

a zing of heat spreads through your chest as you look him in the eye. the club feels too dark, too hot, too loud, and jihoon too close to you. “i need some air,” you rush, standing up on wobbly knees. you pull the hem of your dress down, making the mistake of looking down at jihoon. he stares up at you, his eyes wide as they drag up your legs. when his gaze settles on your face, his lips part and his to the darts out to lick the corner of his mouth.

you swallow the newly formed lump in your mouth and make your way towards the stairs and hobble down, hand gripping tightly to the railing. you manage to make it down the flight of stairs without embarrassing yourself and push past people to get to the exit, outside calling your name like a siren. “y/n!” or maybe it’s literally your ex calling out to you.

jihoon is right on your heels, looking a little stressed as you round the corner around the side of the club. you suck in some air and look over at him, a breeze blowing his hair out of place again. “what?”

he holds his arms out to the side for a brief moment before dropping them at his sides. “i don’t know. i don’t know what to say, i just…” he trails off with a light shake of his head, wiping around his mouth. you just stare at him, bottom lip tucked under your top lip. “i just want to talk to you, i guess. i don’t know. i miss you.” he says for the third time tonight.

you only hum, looking up at the inky black sky. you hear his shoes scuff against the pavement, and then he’s right at your side, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking onto his heels. “i’d do it differently, if i could, you know? i fucked it all up.”

“what would you have done differently, jihoon? quit your job? stopped making music? i wasn’t going to have you resent me, jihoon,” tonight doesn’t feel like the night for this conversation, but maybe it is. maybe that’s why you came here knowingly, hoping that you’d run into him to make sense of the end of your relationship. “there’s nothing to really change, jihoon. you came home. you checked in. you did it all.” you don’t know why you’re trying to spare his feelings still, but something in you won’t let you dunk on him to his face like you did behind his back.

jihoon is listening, he hears you. but the only thing he can focus on is the way you keep saying his name, and just how much he really misses hearing you say it. blowing out a breath, he shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and drops them, eyes flicking up to you at you. your bottom lip is tucked underneath the top, your eyes already on him. your arms are crossed over your midsection, and a breeze blows a few strands of hair out of their place and jihoon has the urge to put them back, but he stops himself.

“so now what?” you ask, peering down at him. jihoon stares back at you with parted lips, eyes dropping to the ground before flicking back up to you.

“i don’t know. i just miss you, y/n,” he flicks his bangs out of his face and you purse your lips. it’s not like you don’t miss—you do, way too much, in your opinion—you just don’t necessarily know what to do with what he’s saying to you. is he expecting you to magically forget everything and take him back? should you take him back? should you even be talking to him? “you look really nice tonight.”

and he looks too good right now, too approachable, too take-back-able. he looks good enough to do something you might regret in the morning.

jihoon takes a half a step closer to you, the toe of his shoe touching your heel. you turn, interweaving your legs and pressing your abdomen against his and putting a hand on his shoulder. he swallows and ignores the thump thump thump of his heart, nerves skyrocketing the longer you look at him with your hand on him.

in an instant, you’re ducking down and pressing your lips to his. jihoon kisses you back urgently, one hand resting on your hip and the other cradling the side of your face. it’s rushed, messy, and feverish in seconds, jihoon trying his damndest to pull you impossibly closer.

he grows hard below you and the slightest brush of his erection on your leg makes you shiver and part your lips against his, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. jihoon drops his hand from your cheek and places it over your ass, pulling your crotch against his own. “i drove here,” he pants against your lips when he gets a moment to pull away.

that’s all you need to hear to let him lead you to his car, your heels echoing off the pavement. jihoon helps you into the back and climbs in immediately after, pulling the door closed and caging you against the backseat and the side of the door.

jihoon settles one knee on the floor of the car and the other on the seat, hands bunching your dress up around your hips as he kisses you fervently. your hands work the buttons of his shirt open, mouths pulling apart for a brief moment when you get to the end of his shirt and fumble with the last button for too long. his shirt falls open and you push it off his shoulders, and wet your lips at the sight of his bare torso.

the air in the car is thick as he sits above you, chest heaving as you drink him in. you rake your nails over the toned body that you once used to get to touch just like this. jihoon nudges your nose with his own, gently pressing his lips to yours once you angle towards him. he holds onto the headrest to brace himself, quietly groaning when you start to work his belt open.

“i need you,” you whine when his belt is pulled free, already rushing to unbutton his pants.

“lemme stretch you out first. you can’t take me yet,” and he’s not trying to be cocky (he definitely is), but he doesn’t need to know if you’ve been fucking other people to know that you definitely aren’t ready for him.

you whine at the thought of having him inside of you, your core aching with need. he’s 100% right, but you want him so bad and feel like you can’t wait.

jihoon is already working his fingers inside of you, pulling your panties down to your knees and dragging his fingers up your folds to collect your slick. he doesn’t tease you like he otherwise would if you were still together, rather he dips two fingers into your sopping, warm hole and curls them upwards. you gasp and he bites his bottom lip, pumping his fingers in and out of you.

arching against the seat, you whimper when he presses against your clit with his thumb as he works his fingers inside of you, reaching that spongy part that makes your vision spot and harsh pants leave your lips. jihoon leans down and kisses on your neck, lips dragging under your jawbone and nearing your collarbones. “i missed this,” he groans into your neck, teeth lightly nipping at the soft skin there. you only buck your hips in response and bury a hand in his hair. “missed you and this perfect pussy.”

a soft grunt escapes you when he slips in a third finger. “you take my fingers so well, baby,” he adds, pulling back from your neck to look down at where you mold around his three fingers. you suck him in greedily, and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

“hoon, i want you,” you whimper, tugging on his hair. his eyes fall closed as he lets you pull on his hair, head falling back as you do it. “i can take it.” you add, pussy clenching around his fingers. you bring your other hand over to pull down his zipper, eagerly pushing at the waistband.

“you sure?” he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, fingers still moving inside of you. you nod and lean up from the seat and press your chest into his, turning your head to connect your lips in a sloppy kiss.

jihoon pulls his fingers out of you and pull away from you to shove his pants down to his ankles, haphazardly wiping his hand on the fabric of his boxers. jihoon throws himself onto the seat next to you and tugs you onto his lap, one hand making use of unzipping the back of your dress and helping you out of it, followed by your bra and panties.

you’re left in just your heels and him in just his open shirt, his hard cock flat against his stomach. jihoon palms your breasts, letting out a breath when you rock against his lap. “fuck, i need you so bad,” you say, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck. reaching between the two of you, you take his thick shaft in your hand and slowly start pumping him, reveling in how he pants into your ear and grips onto your ass tightly.

“i wanna feel you, baby. ride me,” he rasps, biting his lip to hold in a whimper when you swipe your thumb over his tip. you raise your hips and position him at your entrance before slowly sinking down on him, gasping when the head of his cock presses into your hole and stretches you out. “fuckkkk.” he drawls, leaning his head back against the seat.

you hold onto his shoulders for support as you move lower and lower onto him, breathing quickening with each inch you take. his cock fills you up in a way that is so familiar yet so foreign after months of going without. it would be overwhelming if not for the way he rubs your lower back and kisses across your chest, mumbling at you to take your time. “you feel that?” jihoon groans, hands squeezing your hips.

you only whine pathetically and draw your bottom lip in between your teeth. you sink lower, finally bottoming out and shuddering at being stuffed. jihoon lets you sit on his lap and adjust, his ego swelling knowing that you even need the time. “shit,” you whisper, running a hand through your hair and tilting your head back. the stretch is bordering on painful, but you’re not about to quit now, not when your cunt has its own pulse that’s in sync with your heart.

a heavy hand falls on your neck and jihoon pulls you down to his lips, instantly slipping his tongue into your mouth. you moan against him and rock your hips back and forth, sucking in a breath each time you move forwards. you falter in the kiss, simply pressing against his mouth as you grind against him. “you’re so tight,” jihoon grunts, dropping his hand from your neck to toy with your clit. you clench around him and his breath hitches. “i missed this pussy, fuck. i’ve been thinking about you every night.” he admits, earning a whimper in response.

moving up onto your knees, you work up the strength to fuck yourself onto him and place a hand on the roof of the car to steady yourself. “f-fuck, jihoon,” you hiccup, mouth falling open.

“do you miss me too?” he rasps, pinching your clit , hips bucking when you let out a whimper that goes straight to his cock. “you think of me fucking you like this?”

“yes!” you cry out, a response to both of his questions. your thighs burn but you keep bouncing up and down, a familiar tightness forming at the base of your stomach. “missed this so much.” you squeak, dropping onto his lap and rolling your hips.

“yeah?” he pants out, lips ghosting over your neck. “cum for me and show me.” and you look down at him and swear you see a demon for a second, jaw falling to your chest when he rubs his thumb across your bundle of nerves.

putting both of his hands on your ass, he surprises you when he hoists you up before slamming you back down on his cock, careful to avoid knocking your head against the top of the car. you moan and encircle your arms around his neck and hunch down into him, crying out his name as he manually moves you up and down. “j-jihoon!” the air gets pushed from your lungs each time he pulls you down onto his cock, vision blurring.

your cunt clenches around him in a vice grip, making him stutter as he lets out a string of curses mixed with praise. “s-shit, feels so f-fucking g-good,” jihoon manages. he can feel his release creeping up on him, but he’s determined to have you cum first. he still knows all of your tells: heavy breathing, lack of talking back, the tight grip you have on him. “are you gonna cum for me?”

it only takes him fucking you onto his cock a few more times before youre sputtering out his name and your cunt is spasming around his cock. you gush onto his lap and shake against him, nails digging into his shoulder blades. feeling you against him spurs his own orgasm, and ropes of his cum shoot up into you. you want to blame the alcohol for your lack of concern for a condom, but you’re too far gone (and take birth control pills) to take up an issue with letting him fuck you raw.

you settle in his lap and tuck your face into his neck. jihoon rubs your back soothingly and makes no move to get you off of him, or to move. for a few minutes of you sitting on top of him, he lets himself pretend like you’re still together, and softly peppers kisses into your neck, all while his finger tips gently stroke up your spine. you love and hate the intimacy, wishing it were real and yours to hold onto. wishing that it meant something.

“jihoon,” you’re the first to break away after what feels like forever. you sit up and peel yourself off of him, involuntarily moaning when he slips out of you. you roll onto the seat next to him and shyly try your best to cover yourself. “did you really mean it?” you ask.

“mean what?”

“mean it when you said you’d do it all over again?”

he places a hand on your bare leg and looks over at you. “i did. i’d do anything, really, to get you back,” he admits. he doesn’t care if he sounds pathetic, he just wants you back.

you only hum. his bluntness puts butterflies in your stomach, and has you wondering if a second chance would really be that bad? or maybe it’s the fact that you can feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the seats.

“it’s not going to be this easy, jihoon,” you say, playing with the ends of your hair. his hand slides higher as he scoots closer to you, seemingly pulling you back into his lap. you wrap an arm around his neck and toy with his hair. “you’ve really got to try. show me that you care.” you add softly.

jihoon peers up at you with big, pleading eyes, and you feel yourself soften against him. he kisses the center of your chest and you let out a sigh, curling into his body. “i can do that. i just want you back, baby.”

and if he keeps calling you baby, it really might just be that easy.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔 - 𝒁𝒐𝒓𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

This is a quick little Valentine's Day fic for Zoro! Short and sweet (pun intended,) but I loved writing it. I have a few other things I'll be trying to post leading up to Valentine's Day, but at the very least I've managed to get this out. I may end up editing it after the fact as I usually do.

CW: SFW, strong language, alcohol, tsundere-ish Zoro, female reader

~2k words

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“I hate chocolate.” 

“Good. These aren't for you, anyway.”

Zoro grumbles under his breath as he follows you out of the little confectionery shop, begrudgingly holding a bag of various chocolates. He's never been a fan of sweets, not at all, not even a little. So when you dragged him inside on the one day you have off the ship, he was a little annoyed, to say the least. 

“What, so you bought this many for yourself?” He asks. His steps keep in time with yours as he walks beside you, careful not to lose you in the crowd.

“Nope. For the crew.” You explain, peeking into the bag you carry. “I thought it'd be nice to get everyone something since it's almost Valentine's Day.”

Shit. Zoro knew he was forgetting something. 

“Right. Valentine's Day.” Zoro mumbles, glancing down at the bag again. 

God, how could he forget? Everyone's been babbling about chocolates, roses, festivities, and the cook has certainly been the worst offender, asking every woman aboard if they'd be his Valentine. Somewhere between his training, their fights at sea, and taking naps with you, he lost track of time. His eyes remain locked on the bag of chocolates, and just as he's trying to push the strange blend of feelings from his mind, he feels you tugging on his arm. In his train of thought, he'd started veering off the opposite way. 

“Whoa, there. Ship's this way, Mossy.” You say in your goddamn adorably teasing tone. It makes him clench his jaw. 

“Yeah, I know. And don’t call me that.” Zoro responds curtly, bristling with annoyance. 

It just makes you laugh. 

“Whatever you say.”

---

Zoro stares at you from across the deck, watching you hand chocolates to your crewmates. Luffy's confused at first, then overjoyed; Usopp’s awkward, then grateful; Franky's making his stupid poses; Nami's taking it off your tab; Robin's thanking you; Brook's asking to see your panties; Chopper's wiggling and grinning; Sanji's nose is bleeding; blah blah blah. All the same antics, the same lines, yet all Zoro is focused on is that look on your beautiful face as you give out your Valentine's chocolates. Your eyes light up with every ‘thank you,’ every hug, and all Zoro can do is think about how the hell he forgot about Valentine's Day. 

But it's too late now, isn't it? The ship has already left the port and he didn't buy any flowers or gifts. He sucks at making cards, expressing his feelings, baking cookies - basically, anything that could make a decent Valentine. Then there's the most troubling part of all. Is he even your Valentine? Does it even matter?

You've been dating each other for somewhere around two months now. That doesn't necessarily mean that you're Valentine's, though. Nothing was ever said, neither of you asked the other, and at this point, he's not even sure how to bring it up. It seems rather obvious to him that you'd be each other's Valentine's, but that's what makes it even more frustrating - what seems obvious to Zoro isn't always obvious to others. Sometimes he's exhausted being surrounded by so many idiots (though he refuses to admit that he’s one of them.)

But not you. You're the idiot he doesn't get tired of. But, god, why did it have to be chocolates? Valentine's Day has always seemed like some kind of worthless, annoying day where everyone just gives out candy and useless junk as an excuse to make out. Making out, Zoro can handle - sweets, not so much. But then there's you, who's all sugar and spice and everything nice. The antithesis of what he's supposed to like, but your attitude has proven irresistibly charming to the stoic swordsman. 

The way your smile beams across the ship could end wars, call ships away from danger, light up the moonless sky as it so often has when you've been on watch together. It's damn near impossible to deny how much he loves to see that look on your face, and even more irritating that currently he's not the one that put it there. So, chocolates. Zoro can't do that. But that smile? He'll maim, kill, and die for it. He reasons that maybe there's a simpler way. 

---

You're a little skeptical when your boyfriend asks you to come up to the crow’s nest in the middle of the night. Hell, neither of you is assigned watch and it's well past your usual hours for training. Usually, this late at night, Zoro's fast asleep in his hammock if he's not tucked into your bed with you. So, what gives?

“Just shut up and trust me.” He chides, his tone slightly irritated but mostly playful. Well, that's Zoro.

As you follow him out onto the deck, the cool night air hits the exposed skin from your pajamas. The stars are beautiful, glittering above in a way that's almost distracting, but you don't linger your gaze on them for too long. Instead, you stay closely behind Zoro, your arms crossed over your chest long enough to keep some semblance of warmth. The journey up the crow’s nest is longer than you'd like given the temperature and your sleepy mind, but you swear you can almost smell something weird wafting down from the open door hatch. 

It's not only until you peek inside that you recognize the scent of lavender, and through the candlelight, you recognize a large blanket, several pillows, a bottle of sake, and some kind of food on a few plates. As you're trying to register what you're looking at, Zoro pulls your hand gently to assist you up the rest of the way. 

“What is this?” You ask, and the way your lips curl into a smile makes Zoro's heart stutter. 

He lets go of your hand, walking across the planks of the crow’s nest to his makeshift picnic. It’s a romantic setup that took him all evening, and he can recall the several conversations he had with himself to try to figure out something to throw together. He’s a little satisfied with himself - smug, even - but he maintains his usual demeanor for now. Zoro doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, after all.

“Well, what does it look like?” Zoro responds in his classic, gruff tone. “Made you a picnic. Since it's Valentine's Day and all that.”

Your eyes glance around the candles, and while the setup is fairly simple, you can't deny the wonder you feel at the sight. Never once had you expected anything like this from Zoro. Quite truthfully, you thought he would have forgotten or written off the whole thing as stupid. Taking a few careful steps, your gaze finally glances back up at him. 

“Where did you…I mean, food and candles? I really didn't…”

Zoro hums, and his lips finally quirk up into a cocky smile for a moment. He couldn’t keep that smug feeling aside for long, especially when your eyes light up the way they do.

“Candles are from Robin, and I owe Nami for tricking the cook into getting us some snacks.” He responds before his eye flicks back up to yours. “You like it?”

“Like it? This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.” You grin, and you move to close the space between you two. It makes Zoro's heart stutter yet again. 

“Really? Is the bar that low?” Zoro replies with an amused huff. “Didn't think it was all that impressive. I pulled it together sorta last minute when I realized Valentine's Day meant so much to you.”

“It doesn’t.” You respond quickly, and you let out a laugh at Zoro’s shocked expression. So, you elaborate. “I mean, I like Valentine’s Day because it’s an excuse to express how much people mean to me. But the holiday itself doesn’t make or break anything. I wasn’t expecting you to actually care about it, which is why I never said anything.”

Zoro seems contemplative for a moment, his eye trailing carefully over to the makeshift picnic. He lets out a huff, one hand resting casually on his sword, the other against his thigh. 

“Of course I don’t care about Valentine’s Day.” He says, almost snapping. Guess you struck a nerve. “It’s a stupid holiday designed for people like that love cook to hit on women. I didn’t even know it was Valentine’s Day ‘till you bought all that candy.”

Despite his harsh tone, you can’t help but smile a bit wider at his response. He seems irritated, and likely just because he was in his own head about it. And god, that smile you give him…

“But I care about you, moron. That’s why I threw this together.”

Zoro sits down on one of the blankets, patting a pillow next to him for you to join. You don’t hesitate, and as you sit down you watch as Zoro grabs the bottle of sake and pulls the cork out with his teeth. He spits it aside, taking a long swig of it. If the candles weren’t so dim, you might have been able to notice the way the tips of his ears light up red. 

“I already told you that this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. You don’t have to feel weird about doing it just because I wasn’t expecting it.” You finally speak up, a hand moving to rest on his forearm. “Seriously, I appreciate this. It’s honestly really…sweet.”

Zoro takes his free hand holding the bottle of sake, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand with a sigh. He’s definitely embarrassed, but that sweet tone of yours makes something in his chest feel lighter. 

“Yeah, well…I don’t normally do sweet. You know that.” Zoro says, setting the bottle of sake down between the both of you. And he knows that you know that - hell, you probably know him better than most people. “Just felt like now that we’re dating, I wanted to see you…have a good Valentine’s Day.”

“For someone who claims to hate sweet, you’re very good at it. Thank you, Zoro.” You reply, leaning against him just a little bit. The skin-to-skin contact makes Zoro heat up a bit, and when you lean in closer, you can’t contain the small giggle that leaves you. “But I feel like I should let you know that Valentine’s Day isn’t for another few days.”

Zoro’s expression drops once again, and that stupid annoying feeling of irritation fills him. His head snaps in your direction, and he visibly bristles. It makes you laugh.

“Dammit! Why the hell were you giving everyone chocolates so early then, woman?” 

“Because I didn’t want them to go bad! Plus, I’m horrible with surprises. I get too impatient.” You laugh again, and that laugh somehow both irritates and soothes Zoro. He’ll never understand the effect you have on him.

Grumbling, he grabs the bottle of sake again. Before he can bring it to his lips, though, your hand moves up to his chin, gently pulling it so that he looks right at you. With a grin, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. That irritation in him is gone, and his eye slowly shuts as he feels you both melt into the kiss. Goddamn, Zoro hates sweets, but the taste of your lips against his is addicting. His chest aches when the kiss breaks, but your lips linger against one another.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” You murmur.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Prewar!Cooper Howard has a breeding kink because he loves being a dad. He and Barb married and started trying for kids later in life than most folks around them, so much of the sex they had, especially early on, was focused on getting Barb pregnant. If he'd had his way, they would have had a whole litter of children, but hey, sometimes life doesn't work out the way you want. Still, there's the fun of trying, and there was a lot of trying. After the divorce, he's shocked when he meets someone else, and even more shocked when he feels those same urges with you. He's been trained to try and knock one in basically every time, he jokes.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

He's also incredibly possessive, and it drives him wild to think about getting to see you all swollen and filled out with his child. Particularly with you being younger that him; the ugly part of his brain is barking at him to stake a more permanent claim on you every time a guy your age so much as looks your way. Personally, he thinks he's too old to have more kids, but between his secret urges, your forgetfulness when it comes to your pill, and your twin high sex drives, well...sometimes accidents happen.

He'd be over the moon, once he knew you were happy as well (he would also worry about the news potentially being hurtful to Barb, but that'd be an issue for tomorrow). Showing you off in public, knowing that other people see how gorgeous you are and know you fully belong to him, it really gets him going, and you certainly take notice of how amorous he is when you're out together (combined with how vigorously he fucks you when you get home). Thinks you're insanely sexy pregnant and likes to watch you ride him with a big belly. You'd both better be a lot more careful about your contraception after the first baby if you don't want another, because getting to see you that way only makes his kink worse.

The Ghoul has a breeding kink because he's incredibly possessive. It's been literal centuries since he's come across anything in this world that he cares for enough to want to claim it, and you're officially claimed. He wants everyone, including you, to know that you belong to him and only him. Other ghouls can smell him on you much more strongly if he cums inside you, and he enjoys the way filling you full scratches his most primal itch. It's just an added benefit that he's almost positive he can't actually get you pregnant, but...there are records of ghouls reproducing with other ghouls. Haven't stranger things happened?

The little thrill he gets at the idea is just nature trying to take over.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

You'd be hard-up to get him to admit it, but he wants you to need him. He wants an excuse to baby you and pamper you and force you to let him do things for you without the vulnerability of admitting that he wants to do those things for you anyway because he's deeply in love with you.

You complain that your feet hurt during your journey for the day? He'll carry you everywhere you want to go from now until the end of time, if that's what you want. Stomach and appetite troubles? Name whatever you want, he'll find it for you, no matter how many caps he has to pay. Tired? "Of course you're tired, sweetheart. Let's stop for today. Here, sit down. Do you need some water? Eat this, you need some calories. Let me rub your legs and feet for you." It is endless and sort of surreal for you to adjust to.

Speaking of journeys, I think he also secretly wants to settle down a bit. He does already after he meets and falls for you, seeing how much the constant trekking back and forth across the irradiated desert takes out of you, and he definitely would want to do so expeditiously if you were pregnant. It's not like secure places don't exist in this world. He can keep you, and anyone else who may come along, safe just fine.

He'd be afraid to fuck you if you were pregnant, worried that he'll hurt you or make you sick or make something bad happen with the pregnancy. But if you reassure him, maybe beg a little, he'll do his best to make sure your urges are satisfied. Sit on his face and let him slide his tongue through your insanely sensitive folds, lie back and let him fuck you with those agile fingers while he jerks himself off. You'll miss being properly penetrated, badly, but you won't go without.

He wants an excuse to be even more protective of you than usual. Give him a reason to literally pluck men's eyes out for daring to so much as look at you, a reason to never let you out of his sight ever again. If you thought he was ready to commit violence to keep you safe before, you haven't seen anything yet.

I can't imagine it would be easy to have a big family in the Wasteland, but reminding him how much he loves being a dad would certainly have the thought on his mind.

[arting-block]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war. 

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were. 

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship. 

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison. 

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off. 

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply. 

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further. 

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. 

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks. 

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric. 

Tell him, tell him everything. 

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more. 

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above. 

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice—that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” 

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before. 

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room. 

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns. 

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words. 

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response. 

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: “How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair. 

He doesn’t love you. 

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing. 

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen. 

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry? 

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview. 

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing. 

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care. 

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord. 

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door. 

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place. 

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry. 

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to. 

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt. 

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it. 

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out. 

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory. 

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes. 

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything. 

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. 

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide. 

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face. 

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory. 

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart. 

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before…”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face. 

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave. 

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him. 

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you. 

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids. 

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever. 

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response. 

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. 

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile. 

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

[gurlwhaaa]

Megumi is a softie?! Megumi Fushiguro x reader

Megumi had always had a hard and stoic demeanor. he barely let his emotions slip out. no one could even imagine him wearing mismatched fluffy socks and cuddle soft toys. well, you didn't have to imagine.

as you and Megumi were dating, you'd often sneek into his room and rarely, sometimes, once in a blue moon, he would come to your dorm without being asked with the excuse of studying. but, it was actually because he was just missing you too much.

you were staying back in the grounds to training a little longer that day. you sat down to take a quick break after a while. your phone buzzed with Megumi's name on top.

Meggii (+3)

Hey. Can I come over? I think I left a notebook at your dorm.

You

You don't have to ask EACH AND EVERY TIME yk? I'm actually training a little late tday. so u can come over. I'll come over in a while.

Meggii

Okay.

No matter how many time you told him that he didn't need to ask to come over, he always made sure to ask you.

so, after a while or 15 more minutes, after you were done for the day, you headed back to your dorm.

as you opened the door to your dorm, you expected megumi to be on your bed or desk flipping through pages. but, at first when you entered, you didn't see him.

then, you focused over your bed only to find a megumi occupying your entire bed, a few of your stuffed animals trapped under his arm. WHAT?! WERE YOU HALLUCINATING?? MEGUMI. A NONCHALANT IDGAFer SLEEPING WITH STUFFED TOYS THAT HE ALWAYS PRETENDED TO NOT CARE ABOUT?!

and to make the scene better, he was wearing mismatched socks. FLUFFY MISMATCHED SOCKS. you wasted no time in taking a quick picture (for future blackmail purposes ofc) and sitting on the very less space beside him on the bed. you noticed that there were no books or notebooks around.

soft snores filling in the silence, you just stared. you couldn't take your eyes off. this was too beautiful to not cherish.

suddenly, you noticed Megumi's eyes peeping, and eventually fully opening. as soon as he noticed your silhouette, his cheeks painted red in embarrassment. he was no slower in sitting up straight.

he looked mortified. he was waiting for you to react. "awwwwwwww" you finally cracked giving the cheesiest smile. "you look so cuteeee!!" you exclaimed as you dragged your words. "I never knew Megumi Fushiguro sleeps with stuffed toys!" you kept going.

"uh-hh I wasn't sleeping with stuffed toys! they were just there." he tried cooking up an excuse. "yeah they just happened to float under your arms" you giggled. "and no books huh? did my stuffed toys clean up after all the studying you did?" you added.

"I was tired ok?!" he pouted. "ahh now you're pouting" you teased. "I'm not!" he tried straightening his face. then, he looked down to his feet. OH NO. SOCKS. HE WAS DYING THAT DAY.

"oh and nice socks" you pointed out. he cupped and hid his own face in defeat. then horror hit him. "wait- DON'T TELL ME YOU-" he started. "Oh yes, of course I did! how could I not capture this scenery!" you cut him off. he had just realized that you probably took a picture of him.

now, he needed to move to a new city. hehehe

[yuikomorii]

Ayayui date♡

// I'm not sure why, but I suddenly got a burst of creativity. There's no special occasion for this post; it was really just an excuse to edit Yui in my favorite Princess Collection outfit. I like how the merch line was released right on Ayato’s birthday, so I really wanted to see an Ayayui date in those outfits! 😌💕

I was in the mood to write a special scenario again. You just have to click on ‘Keep reading’ to find it. This one is set after the LE events, particularly after the After Story, so I hope you enjoy it! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

Ayato: Haa… finally!

After all this time, I’ve managed to sort out every single problem in the Demon World.

Geez, I’m gladly taking a break!

( Ever since I became king, I’ve been buried in an endless pile of documents—so many that I’ve grown sick just being in that place. Things seem to be getting better in the Demon World, though I’d lie to say it’s perfectly stable. )

( Well, whatever. I shouldn’t bother too much about that… for now. )

( Right now, all I can think about is her. Ugh, these stupid king duties have kept us apart for way too long. I’m sure she must’ve felt really lonely, huh…? )

( Damn it! That was never my intention, but I know it must be boring as hell to be stuck in the castle all day by yourself. )

( That’s why, I’m definitely going to make it up to her today and take her somewhere nice~! )

Place: Their room

Ayato: Chi-chi-na-shi, guess who’s ba—

( Hah!? She’s not here? )

Oi, Yui!

( She’s still not answering? )

Yui, where are yo—

???: Ayato-kun..!

— hugs his back —

Ayato: What the—!

Yui: Fufu, sorry for taking you off guard. I was just thrilled to see Ayato-kun again!

Ayato: Geez, next time I call you, answer me, understood? You’re still in the Demon World, anything could happen when no one’s around, y’know?

Yui: Ah… I’m sorry for being careless. I hope I didn’t make you worry…

Ayato: No need to sulk now. What matters the most is that you’re alright.

Now… about the thing you’re wearing. Where the heck did you even get it from? It’s the first time I’ve seen you in it.

Yui: Oh, actually I bought it last time we went shopping together. You see… I didn’t show it to you back then because I wanted it to be a surprise, but uuh… does it not suit me?

Ayato: Haa… normally, when a woman wants to surprise her man, she wears lingerie or something sexy, but I’ll forgive you this time. Why? Because you look hella cute in that, can’t deny.

— Yui blushes —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you! I’m really happy…!

Ayato: ( Is she seriously almost on the verge of tears for that? )

C-C’mon, don’t get all emotional over every little thing. The date hasn’t even started yet! You really want people to see you with red eyes and puffy cheeks outside?

— Yui shakes head —

Ayato: Good, now let’s go!

— He takes her hand —

Place: Kaminashi City

Ayato: Can’t believe I’m gonna say this but I somehow missed this place.

Yui: Is that so? I thought Ayato-kun didn’t like the Human World.

Ayato: I don’t mind either of them, but right now I’m sick of the Demon World. If I see one more document, I will end up throwing up on the spot.

Yui: Ayato-kun…

( That’s right, he’s been working a lot ever since he became king. I’m sure it must truly be tiring spending days in front of all those documents. )

I’m glad you put a lot of effort in your role, but take it easy, okay? I can’t do much in this situation, yet… If you ever need help, I want to be there to support you!

Ayato: Hmm… anyway. I’m not here to talk about work again. I just want us to enjoy some time together for once.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun really sounds exhausted… He’s matured so much these past few months, which isn’t bad, but I just wish he could relax a little. )

Then, let’s make the best of this day!

— tugs onto his arm and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: Haa… it’s way better outside.

( Ayato-kun is still waiting to pay for our things, but it was way too hot in that store, so he told me to get some fresh air. )

( Now that I think about it, vampires are always cold, so I doubt the heat bothers him as much as it does me, right? Even so, seeing him care about my comfort makes me really happy. )

— warm breeze hits —

Yui: Mm… so ni—

— something suddenly hits her —

Yui: Kyah! What on earth was that!?

Eh? That’s—

Familiar: Greetings. Pardon my interruption, but could it be that you are Komori Yui-sama?

Yui: ( ‘Sama’? Uuh… I feel like that’s an exaggeration. )

Yes, I am. Did anything happen…?

Familiar: Rest assured, there is no need for alarm. My purpose here is simply to entrust this to your care. Unable to find Ayato-sama, I must rely on you to deliver him this letter.

— Yui takes it —

Yui: But, what’s this letter about?

If it’s possible to tell, of course.

Familiar: In essence, a new set of documents has been prepared for Ayato-sama. Please inform him at your earliest convenience, as his return is eagerly anticipated.

Yui: Wait! Does it mean that he really has to return now—!

( Oh no! The familiar is already gone! )

( To think that Ayato-kun was finally starting to relax again… )

( All this letter will do is ruin his day, that’s for sure. )

( But at the same time, not showing it to him… that would undoubtedly get him in troubles. )

( Uuh… This situation is so complicated. What should I do…? )

Ayato: Chichinashi!!!

Yui: ….!

— suddenly hides the letter —

A-Ah, Ayato-kun, you’re back!

Ayato: Duh, and I kept calling your name but it seems you only answer to Chi-chi-na-shi~.

— He starts pinching her cheeks —

Yui: Whey dwont, staphh!

Ayato: Hehe, that’s what you get for spacing out and ignoring me.

Anyway, you weren’t approached by any creeps, were you?

Yui: N-No, not at all!

Ayato: Hmm… that doesn’t sound too honest. Are you lying?

Yui: No way! I… I’m just hungry and my stomach won’t stop growling, which is really embarrassing…

Ayato: Haa… you never change. Always getting embarrassed over everything, but no worries, I didn’t hear anything. Though, if you’re really that hungry, I guess we could get something to eat.

Yui: Y-Yeah, that sounds great!

* Timeskip *

Yui: ( After the restaurant, we went to the mall, then back to the center. Ayato-kun… we walked a lot today, but instead of getting tired, he just got more and more energetic. )

( I suppose he was really in need of this break, so maybe hiding that letter wasn’t entirely bad, no…? Still, I’ll have to give it to him today, otherwise I’ll surely put him at risk… )

Ayato: Oi Yui, look!

Yui: W-Woah! I’ve never seen such big Takoyaki before!

Ayato: Heh, right? It’s even bigger than the ones from the Demon World!

Also, Ore-sama got you this, so I better see you eat it all.

Yui: Eh-? This is such a big donut! T-There’s no way I could eat all of it!

Ayato: So you’re refusing my donut? You’re way too ungrateful for a Chichinashi. Well, in that case, I guess you don’t need it any—

Yui: No, no, the donut is good!

— starts eating it —

Come to think of it, today you’ve spoiled me quite a lot, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: And why would that be bad? I thought women liked that.

Yui: It’s not bad, but I really didn’t do anything special. You’re the one who’s been working all day and night, for this reason I believe you deserve this treatment more.

Ayato: Haa… getting all self-conscious, just like always.

Look, you know I’m not good at sentimental shit, but after everything we’ve been through, your presence is special enough for me.

I guess I just want to cherish you, that’s all.

Yui: Ayato-kun… I feel the——

A-Ah, oh no!

( The chocolate… it melted on my hand! )

I-I’m sorry, I’ll be right back!

— tries to stand up —

Ayato: Nah, nah. C’mere.

— grabs her and sits her on his lap —

Yui: Wait, don’t!

— he starts licking her hand —

Yui: A-Ayato-kun, stop it! We’re in public…!

Ayato: Mnn… Mm…

— slowly bites —

Yui: Uuh…

( At this rate, people will definitely start watching!)

— starts moving —

Ayato: Tch, you’re making this way too hard for both! Just stay still and stop acting like I’m about to kill you!

Yui: ( I know his intentions aren’t bad, but this is getting too embarrassing…! )

( I’m sorry, Ayato-kun! )

— tries to push him away but falls down —

Yui: Oww…

Ayato: ( Geez, what a klutz. )

Haa… are you hurt?

— grabs her arm and picks her up —

Yui: Ah, I’m alright, no worries.

Ayato: Oi.

What’s that?

— picks something up —

Yui: ….!

Ayato: Is that… a letter for me?

— starts reading it —

You… you had it all this time with you and didn’t say a word?!

Yui: I… I can explain!

You see, I thought—

Ayato: Shut up!

Do you even have the slightest clue about what you just did!? I seriously doubt you understand how important king duties are, do you?

Hah, of course, you don’t! Why would you?

You sit around doing absolutely nothing all day while I’m working my ass off to make sure you and everyone else can live comfortably!

I’m out here putting in the effort, grinding to create a decent life, not just for you, but for everyone, even if I didn’t ask for this shit. And you do this to me!?

I thought you matured too, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing but a selfish bitch!

Yui: Wait! Ayato-ku—

Ayato: Don’t touch me!

Yui: …!

Please, listen to me!

— grabs his clothes —

Ayato: Quiet! I’m not risking to go through that again only because of someone like you. Get lost!

— pushes her away and leaves —

Yui: …!

No… No… this can’t be the end…

How… How could I be this stupid…? Hhn… Ngh…

Kuh… Ayato-kun.. Nhn…

Place: Avenue

Ayato: (Fuck! I can’t return to the Demon World right now. )

( On top of that, why the hell am I the one feeling guilty now!? )

( She… Yes, she deserved that treatment. That’s what she gets for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Besides, what she did could lead to something dangerous. )

( It’s not the first time she pulls such shit on me anyway, but… )

( Why can’t I stay mad at her no matter what she does to me…? )

Tch, such bullsh— Hah?

Guy 1: Aww, she’s playing hard to get~!

Guy 2: Aren’t you a bit too feisty for a crybaby?

???: S-Stop it! Leave me alone!

Ayato: …!

( That voice… Yui! )

Place: Alley

Yui: I-I told you to stop!

Guy 1: Just come with us, it’ll be fun~.

Yui: No, I don’t want to!

Guy 2: She keeps struggling, isn’t she cu——

— gets punched —

Guy 1: What the—

Guy 2: Such strength!

Yui: Eh?

Ayato: Get out of my sight, you bastards! If you don’t leave this girl alone right now, I’ll make sure your already disgusting faces get even worse!

— they start running away —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you!

( He came back for me… )

Ayato: ….

— grabs her hand and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: ( Ever since Ayato-kun saved me, he hasn’t spoken a word. )

( It’s obvious that he’s mad… )

( But if both of us keep quiet, this conflict will never be solved… )

Ayato & Yui simultaneously: I’m sorry.

Yui: ( Eh? Did he just— )

No… I’m the one who should apologize. I hid that letter, knowing full well the consequences it could have.

However… I only did it because I wanted Ayato-kun to have some free time for himself too.

Ayato: You…

Yui: I’m aware of how much work you have to do, and being king is definitely not easy. That’s why, I really admire your for that.

Nevertheless, it saddens me seeing Ayato-kun so stressed out and exhausted. I want Ayato-kun to be always as energetic and cheerful as he was today, but… I do realize that I’m just being selfish.

Ayato: No… You… You’re not selfish, I am.

I was the one who didn’t listen to your side of the story. It’s just... I’m afraid of failing as king. There, I said it!

I don’t want to put the people I care for in danger, nor can’t I accept being a worse king than that old fart, so all I have to do is carry out my duties. Hell yeah, they’re a pain in the ass but that’s my responsibility now, which is why I can’t back off.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… I never thought you felt that way… )

N-no, the way you reacted was understandable. Anyone under that much stress might have done the same, and I can’t blame you for it.

Besides, I can’t say your words were wrong. I am indeed incapable of fully understanding the challenges you face, however… no matter what happens, I want you to know that you’ll always be the best king to me…!

Ayato: …!

Heh… you really never change.

— hugs her—

Yui: W-Well, I suppose I can’t change if I do nothing all day.

Ayato: Hmph, are you throwing shade at me for what I told you?

Yui: Eh? No way, it was just a coincidence! I swear!

Ayato: Pfft, proved my point. You'll forever stay the clumsy, stupid, and oddly adorable woman that you are.

Yui: Hey, that’s backhan— Mm…!

Ayato: Nn…

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… his kiss is so gentle… )

( I really missed Ayato-kun’s kisses. I’m so happy…! )

Ayato: Oi, don’t tell me you’re about to cry again.

Yui: I’m not but…

I just want to know, will the letter get Ayato-kun in troubles…?

Ayato: I might get some weird looks for not showing up on time, and maybe a lecture or two, but it shouldn’t be too bad. I was supposed to start on them today since there’s a lot, but... I think I’d rather spend my time with my girl instead.

Yui: Is that so? Thank you.

But doesn't that mean you'll have to work even harder to make up for today?

Ayato: I guess it can’t be helped. I don’t want to think of tomorrow, all I want is to focus on the present.

Yui: Fufu, I see. By the way…

Will you uhm… stay overnight too?

Ayato: Heh~? Is that supposed to be a sex invitation?

Yui: I… T-That’s—!

Ayato: Heh~, don’t even try to get out of it, it’s written all over your face.

Rest assured though, the invitation is accepted~.

— Smooch —

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

AVENTURINE NSFW ALPHABET

(+18 content under cut)

General masterlist

Aftercare

Gets overstimulated during sex and can't stand being vulnerable and naked for long after it (he is traumatised, ok?), so he won't cling to you naked for hours. Instead he prefers to take a quick shower with you, follow expensive skincare routine (yes, he shares his products with you) and sleep together with just your hands touching. If you let go of his hand in your sleep he will wake up immediately and reach out for you. You have matching pyjamas.

If you are too tired for any of this he will put a blanket over you and bring his cats so you can cuddle them while he sits on the bed next to you and whispers sweet nothings, playing with your hair. If you ask him to read a book to you he will do so happily, he didn't get many chances to read in captivity. If you share your favourite books with him he will be over the moon and your connection will be so much deeper.

Body part

His body is full of painful reminders of his past. Scars litter his beautiful skin, marks from cuffs covered with his bracelets and watch, teeth he had to replace after years on not being able to take care of them and this stigma burned into his neck. He has a hard time looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes are both all he has left of his people and the excuse for others to hurt him, like a bullseye pointing out his origin and shit he went through. His left hand a sacred part of his body and reminder of a blessing he can barely take, life poisoned with survivors guilt.

Still, his hands are the most favourite part of his body for Aventurine, he decorates them with rings, bracelets and good quality gloves. At first he avoids touching you with his left hand and with bare hands, but if you give him some time this will change.

In your body he likes your curves and your hands as well. He was raised in harsh conditions, it was hard for anybody to gain weight, so for him it's a sign of health. It doesn't matter if you are chubby, muscular or just an average looking person, as long as you look nourished and in good health he will like it. If you have any of those: tendency to blush, thick hips or thigh, voluminous and strong hair, prominent breasts / muscular chest, strong build or exceptional height - he will get obsessed with it.

He loves your hands for how gentle you are with them when you touch him. Has a thing for artists hands, if you sculpt, draw or even crochet he loves to watch you work.

Cum

If you are fertile and able to bear a child he's scared of knocking you up because of how much prejudice he goes through, afraid that his children will be treated in the same way. So he makes sure to end either on your body or inside condom. If you are infertile/ unable to bear a kid he actually prefers to cum inside to not make a mess.

Dirty secret

Before becoming a dominant (more about it in kinks part) he wanted to experience how it is to be on the other side of dynamic to see why people submit. The only person he trusted enough with this was dr. Ratio. While being a sub is not something that comes easy to Aventurine due to his trauma and need to be in control for once in his life, he learned a lot about himself and didn't hate the experience. It made him a much better dom and helped him open sexually.

Another dirty secret of his is cumming in his pants during foreplay when he let you lick your slick from his fingers after fingering and you kissed his aventurine ring.

Experience

In times of his tragic youth he saw a lot of abuse in captivity, including sexual abuse. Most of those things he only witnessed but as a beautiful person from disadvantaged background he experienced a lot of disgusting behaviors and comments towards himself as well.

Once he became Aventurine he used seduction to manipulate people but his memories of people who fetishised his helplessnes made him rather closed off so it was all talk and nothing more. He doesn't want anybody to see him naked and weak, desperate and not guarded. So he avoided getting close to people, with exception of Doctor Ratio with whom he found deep mutual understanding and enough common respect to let another human touch him.

To sum up, he doesn't have much of an experience and doubts intentions of anybody who lusts over him. Also your boyfriend kinda has a boyfriend too. It's just my headcannon, don't cancel me.

Fav position

At first he used to put you in positions that made it impossible for you to see his face such as prone bone or doggy. He couldn't stand the thought of somebody watching him lose control and give in to pleasure. Later he introduced more positions, you need to let him do that in his own tempo. Including blindfold in your sex life helped with it a lot once, now he just allows you to see him come undone.

Goofy

Might seem playful before you guys start and during foreplay, but once you guys actually get down to business he is fully concentrated and serious.

Hair

Like his whole body, it's perfectly taken care of. He prefers to keep it either short or completely shaved off.

Intimacy

At first he avoided intimacy at all costs, he used to bind your wrists above your head so you can't touch him cause after years of being deprived of closeness he was so touch starved that sensation of your skin on his overstimulated him in seconds so he fucked you with all his clothes on - just letting his pants slide down.

With time he allows you much more, enjoying your tender caresses over his body, but he will never fully let go of his guard and needs to be in control to be able to concentrate on pleasure.

Jerk off

Despite having lots of pent up tension he does that very rarely, usually he's just too tired after working so hard or he falls asleep while working late. When he has some time for himself he prefers to call you for help instead of doing it on his own, it's more fun like that and he doesn't have to be alone with his own thoughts after he finishes.

If he masturbates it's very quick and almost mechanical, imagines you giving him a blowjob under his desk to get off faster.

Kink

Aventurine always needs to have complete control over situation as a result of his trauma. He is a 100% dominant. At least with you. Can't stand being vulnerable and unable to decide what is happening to him to a full degree. So he will use soft bondage on you, tying your hands with pretty cords (never with cuffs or anything that could hurt you or bring him bad memories) so you can't touch him unless he allows you to (he doesn't want you to know he's so touch-starved that being touched almost hurts), he will put blindfold on you to control how much of his desperation and desire for you you can see and will make you beg for his touch so you know just how helpless you are compared to him. So you know who is in charge. Years of his captors putting him down planted insecurities in his brain and hearing you pray for his touch is helping him deal with his fear of rejection.

If you decide to worship his body later in relationship when he trusts you enough to give you freedom of movement, he shakes with pleasure. He loves when you are soft with him, because for so long nobody was. Roughness he can take, he is used to that, but this? Your gentle hands make him weak but he won't ever admit that to you.

Has a thing for expensive lingerie that he will himself choose and buy before the evening. He likes finer things in life now that he can afford them and he will make sure you can enjoy them as well. He's the type to buy you diamond necklace and ask you to wait for him with only the necklace on.

He would also want you to dress as a catgirl if you don't find it cringe. He just loves to surroundings himself with adorable things. When you cosplay a cute pet he also feels more in control, cause kittens are weaker than man and at his mercy, meant to be loved by him. He doesn't mean it in creepy way, it's just a display of harmlessness and trust to him.

Location

He might tease you a lot at the casino but will never undress himself or you anywhere else than his apartment.

Motivation

He hates to be alone, Aventurine is very touch starved and lonely person, with almost nobody to trust in this world full of people hating him for being Avgin or trying to undermine his career to take his place. Having sex is the way to get close to somebody without having to bare your soul to them, even if having somebody take a look on his body littered with scars is pretty close to it. He desires your body but still invites you over cause he wants to have some company, sex is just the excuse. If it makes you attached to him, that's even better.

No

Would never be submissive. He is unable to let go of his defenses, needs full control and you are happy to give it to him after he had control over his life taken away for so long.

He gets flashbacks at sight of any chains and cuffs so he won't use them on you, he strictly uses soft and harmless tools for bondage like silk cords.

Won't cause you any pain or force you to do anything, he saw enough of that in his life. He won't do things that in his opinion are a bit to close to abuse or aggressive, he won't even spank you too much or too hard.

Isn't a big fan of marking you with bruises tho he sometimes leaves a hickey or two. Prefers to do so with jewelry.

Don't you even dare to call him Master in the bedroom. Brings bad memories.

He won't let you decide when you introduce new things to bedroom, of course he will respect if you say no to something, but be very careful to not suggest too many new things or he will get distant. He's not half as open as his flirting suggests and really needs time to get used to changes.

Oral

Likes when you give it to him and prove that you care about his pleasure too. He will be in complete control of your pace the whole time. He won't go rough, wants you to enjoy as well. Likes when you worship it, kiss all over the length and take it between your breasts. He wants you on your knees.

He is fair person so he will return the favor times three, but you need to earn it first. He is very willing to show you just what can this silver tongue do, french kissing you down there with fervor.

Pace

Aventurine feels empty inside and tries to feel that void with intense thrills, by playing high-risk games and living fast. So when he fucks he tries to make it hard and fast, but makes it up to you by getting you off faster than anybody else before.

When it's you taking care of him he wants you to take it slow, he doesn't want to lose control over himself completely. You are supposed to be gentle and treat him like royalty.

Quickie

Not a big fan, whatever he does he is always going all the way in. With this all or nothing mentality he despises half-assing his job as your lover. So if he calls for you expect to be up all night.

Risk

Absolutely will not take any risk. While he might gamble with his life on daily basis and is very used to risking everything, he will not bring that persona to bed. He doesn't want to be seen naked by anybody but his most trusted people. He won't show his scars to just anybody so don't even suggest doing anything in public.

Stamina

He has tendency to overdo things and it doesn't get any different in bed. How many rounds can he last? He's already used to pulling all-nighters in work, might as well sacrifice whole night of sleep for your entertainment. How many times can he make you cum before he gets anywhere close to his own release? At least twice.

Toys

Will buy you a good toy to have fun with when he's busy. Of course, it's shape is entirely based on Aventurine's own member. He commisioned it just for you.

Unfair

He can tease you a lot to parade his control over you, make you admit nobody can do you like he can and edge you many times, but he will never humiliate.

Expect him to make you count a pile of coins, not letting you cum the whole time until you are done. All while sitting on his dick.

Volume

Aventurine is not comfortable with you being aware just how desperate you made him so unless he tries to manipulate you with his moan to forgive him or cum instantly he will be rather silent. He's good at that. To let you know you are doing well he praises you with his words.

The only exception is when you worship his body, than he releases quiet but beautiful and slightly high pitched moans.

Wild card

Due to his innate high emotional intelligence, if he dominates you for a long time he learns your body language and expressions in such detailed way you might think he can read your mind. He knows just how to touch you and has perfect timing for everything. Once you had Aventurine no other man will be good enough.

X-Ray

Average size and thickness, but when he rails you it feels much bigger. Nice deep pink color. Curved with not much bigger tip.

Yearning

Would probably be higher if his job didn't tire him out so much. Expect him to invite you for the night around one or two times a week.

Zzz

Keeps an eye on you all the time and will not fall asleep until you do. Nothing against you, just an old habit. Don't get creeped out. If you point it out your chances of returning to his place go down significantly.

When he isn't alone at night he will have nightmares less often, your company brings him tranquility. If you notice him having nightmare don't wake him up or he will get PTSD response, trying to fight you before noticing it's you who startled him. If he gets scared that he can hurt you he will cut you off.

Aventurine's face if you try to steal his catcakes:

[pretzel-box]

Requests are currently closed, but oh please consider this for the future

Reader is an individual that asked Urbanshade, ON PURPOSE, to make experiments on them so they can adapt to the underwater ambient better. They are someone on a life sentence, they will spend their whole life at prison no matter what, might as well keep coming back to the Hadal Blacksite as the only thing that kinda makes them have freedom again. Sebastian absolutely HATES this particular Expendable, because how they’re even willing to do that to themself?!?!

Would love something a long the lines of them physically fighting, and in the heat of the moment that they’re both too tired to keep going, they have a heart to heart conversation

Tags: Body modification, GN!reader, Sebastian hates on Reader

Words: 1k

The walls of the Hadal Blacksite were oppressively cold, the weight of the deep ocean pressing down on every inch of the facility. The air inside was sterile, a sharp contrast to the dark, muddy waters that surrounded the place. You were back again, your body feeling heavier with each visit, the effects of the latest round of experiments settling in. It was a habit, instead of trying to stay human you let yourself fall deeper and deeper to adjust yourself more to this new home.

Every time you returned, the scientists ran more tests, pushing your body further, breaking you down and building you back up in the hopes of making you a better tool for underwater missions. You’d asked for this—no, demanded it. After all, what did you have to lose? A life sentence, shackled in chains above the surface, or the faint glimmer of freedom deep beneath the waves?

The experiments were brutal, yes, but they gave you something. A purpose. A chance to adapt, to become more than just a prisoner. In a way, the deep black of the ocean felt like the only place where you were free, no bars holding you back, only the crushing pressure of the water and the endless darkness that felt almost… liberating.

But to Sebastian Solace, you were a walking nightmare.

He stood in the dimly lit control room, glaring at the monitor that displayed your current location at the submarine docks. You had just returned from your latest visit to Urbanshade, almost befriending them, and the realization was coming in—You sold yourself to the devil in human disguise. The scientists were pleased. Sebastian, however, was not.

He turned sharply as you entered the room, taking in your changed appearance as the many times before. You looked at him, tired but satisfied. You’d survived again, adapted even more to the hostile environment outside. You were becoming something else, something that could thrive where no one else could.

“Back for more, huh?” Sebastian’s voice was ice-cold, his eyes burning with barely concealed anger. “How many times are you going to keep doing this to yourself?”

You shrugged, unbothered by his hostility. “As many as it takes.”

He scoffed, stepping closer, his tall frame towering over you. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re turning into a freak just so you can get a few more hours outside. Do you actually want to die down there?”

You met his gaze, your expression calm, though your heart pounded harder in your chest. “Better than rotting in a cell for the rest of my life.”

“That’s your excuse?” His voice rose, the anger boiling over. “You let them break you apart and stitch you back together because you’d rather drown in the ocean than live like a normal human being?”

You stood your ground, your voice steady. “I’m already dead up there, Sebastian. This,” you gestured to the facility, the dark waters just beyond the thick windows, “this is the closest thing I have to freedom. The ocean doesn’t care about my sentence. It doesn’t care about who I was. It just… exists. And so do I when I’m out there.”

His face twisted into a scowl, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re a fool.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, shrugging again. “But what’s the alternative? Stay locked up, waiting for a death that’ll never come? At least down there, I’m not just a prisoner. I’m something more.”

Sebastian shook his head, stepping back, disgust flashing in his eyes. “Something l less you mean. You’re letting them tear you apart like you’re nothing. You’re just another expendable to them, another tool. And you’re fine with that?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” You shot back, your tone sharper now. “I know what I signed up for. I asked for this. I made the choice.”

“And that’s what pisses me off!” He snapped, his voice echoing in the cold room. He usually kept his tone normal despite his sassy behaviour, but now it feels like all his nerves died off and the strings teared. He was furious. “You chose this. You could’ve fought back, could’ve tried to escape like everyone else. But you just let them do it. You’re so willing to let them destroy you for a few more dives, for what?”

You stared at him, something tightening in your chest. You knew Sebastian hated you for it—hated the way you willingly threw yourself into the experiments, how you seemed so eager to be used by Urbanshade. He couldn’t understand. To him, it was madness. But to you, it was the only way out, the only path that made sense in the twisted mess that had become your life.

“I’m not like you, Sebastian,” you said quietly, your voice cutting through the tension. “I don’t have anyone waiting for me. No life to go back to. All I have is this. And if that makes me a monster in your eyes, fine. But I’m not going to sit around and do nothing while I have the chance to live, even if it’s like this.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched tight, the anger still simmering just beneath the surface. For a moment, you thought he might say something else, might lash out at you again. But instead, he just shook his head, the frustration rolling off him in waves.

“You’re already gone,” he muttered, turning away from you. “And you don’t even see it.”

You watched as he stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The sound echoed in the empty space, leaving you standing alone, soaked and exhausted.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were already gone. But you couldn’t stop now. You wouldn’t stop.

The ocean called to you, its dark depths promising freedom that no surface world could ever offer. Even if it meant breaking apart, even if it meant becoming something unrecognizable, you would keep going back. Because, in the end, it was the only place you truly felt alive.

And if Sebastian couldn’t understand that, then that was his problem—not yours.

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐MRS HOLLYWOOD

summary — in which hasan is caught in the loop of a cyclical relationship with hollywood’s biggest star

pairings — hasan piker x fem!unnamed!actress!oc

pronouns — she/her

word count — 736

note — based on mrs hollywood by go-jo. just a small little thing to get me out of my writer’s block — its nothing special

ON AGAIN, OFF AGAIN.

how many more times was he going to respond to another text? how many more times was he going to leave the key to his house under the doormat?

hasan knew better. at thirty-three he had enough life skills and knowledge to avoid things that used to rope him in a decade ago. perhaps that was why he had matured to a certain extent, but that didn't seem to extend to her.

she was glitz and glamour, a pretty picture splashed across a canvas and decorated to the brim with jewellery. the centre of so many hit films, it seemed that being the centre of hasan piker's world was the only one that mattered.

hasan knew better than to keep letting her back in. she was the same toxicity of a drug, and twice as addictive. she was never around, always departing to go star in the next big thing, never sending a text or bothering to call unless she wanted something.

“you’re always MIA,” he mumbled, the stars shining through his window as the moon kept watch. “where do you go?”

“not everyone works from home,” she mumbled back, closing her eyes as she tucked herself into the large arm he had around her.

“when can we go back?” he tried again. hasan’s fingers tangled in her hair, soothing against her scalp. “this is killing me.”

she remained silent. she couldn’t settle down, running away was all she’d ever known. long-term never worked because then she couldn’t escape, but the excuse of work was wearing thin. she knew hasan didn’t believe her anymore. for fucks sake, most of her filming locations were maybe thirty minutes from his house. it’s not like she was halfway across the fucking globe or anything.

“i can’t,” she answered in a dull fashion, “all you do is work, i’m the same—“

“but you’re not,” he cut her off. it was hard to be upset when they were skin to skin, kept decent by a thin sheet. “it’s been five fucking years.”

“you can forget about me,” she tried to roll out from his arms, but he only tightened them in response. “let me go, has.”

“you can’t keep running,” he said calmly, refusing to raise his voice at her. he used to years ago when things were rockier and her tendencies were dripping with toxic sludge, but it was never the solution. she would just disappear for longer, surfacing in milan or some other foreign place for a day or two before she fell off the map again. “there’s nowhere left for you. this can be your home, too.”

home for her was an apartment in the heart of hollywood. she owned a smaller one in malibu, but neither were home. it was just a place to sleep on the nights she wasn’t staying in hasan’s large bed. there weren’t family memories in the walls like the walls in his house, or the smell of home cooked meals on the occasion that his mother was around and willing. it was just empty — grey walls and white couches, picture frames scarce unless it was one that had been gifted to her after a successful film.

there's nowhere left for you. where hadn't she gone? travelling wasn't just for film locations, it was to get away — to escape things she didn't need to anymore, to continue to feel something by doing all she ever knew how to. packing a few things and fucking off was so easy, running never got tiring . . . but she was nearing thirty. soon enough she would have to settle down somewhere to keep herself grounded, to keep herself afloat.

hasan was offering that. could she take it? it was the easy way out, a way to find that stability that she never could seem to take before.

"just . . . at least stay until morning," he tried one last time, rolling onto his side to press closer to her as if that was the solution to her constant disappearances. "i'll try to make you breakfast."

"mhm, maybe," was all she could mumble, succumbing to the warmth of his body heat and falling into a peaceful slumber.

HASAN woke up the next morning to an empty left side of the bed, the blankets neatly made where she had slept as if she had never been there to begin with. just like always.